Of Bats, Birds, and Other Flying Things
by Lore55
Summary: When Bruce bought the company he didn't expect to be invited for Dinner. When Bruce went to Dinner he didn't expect to find another Orphan. When Bruce started talking to cats, he didn't expect to get another son. He couldn't find it in him regret any of what happened.
1. Chapter 1

**And so the rewrite begins! AND BY REWRITE I mean that a lot of stuff in the first few chapters will stay the same, but after that _everything_ might change. I've added details, fixed some stuff but I still don't have a beta so please be kind.  
**

 **I don't own anything.**

* * *

In retrospect, he really should have just said no.

There was nothing forcing him to take up the invitation from his new employee. In fact, he was ninety percent sure the offer for dinner had only been made out of courtesy when their businesses merged and the man became a part of Wayne Enterprises, however distant and cordial the partnership was.

Instead he had been hungry and his stomach had spoken for his brain. Which was why he was sitting inside of a little two story house on a normal street in a normal town in England with a man so normal it was making his palms itch.

He had never met someone who was so, so-

Plain. Completely and totally plain. There was nothing interesting about him at all, aside from his superior attitude and portly shape. The attitude was bewildering. It was clear that Vernon thought him to be less than him, but he was also a simpering sap who had no idea how well Bruce Wayne could hear his little quips towards his work friend.

 _"_ _Born into it, honestly. And did you hear the latest? He's got a kid! Man like that, not fit for it. Not the right sort of person to be hanging around, you know?"_

It was his fault, to be fair. He did put on a pretty boisterous persona, and his public face was, well.

Definitely not the 'right sort' as Vernon had dared declare to Oscar by the water cooler. It was one of the most surreal moments of his life.

For a vigilante, that was saying something.

He offered the wife his best smile over a pot of roast beef. It didn't smell particularly mouthwatering. In fact it looked, and tasted, perfectly average.

Everything about it was plain. Bland. Boring.

Except the flash of lightning that waved at him through a curtain of dark hair moped on top of the youngest family members head. It reminded him of some of the multitude of scars that raced across his own body. Twenty percent of his flesh, to be exact.

That particular boy was, in fact, much smaller than Bruce expected for an eight year old.

He was also hilarious.

More than once Bruce found himself stifling a smile at the little boy's sass. Vernon and Petunia were less fond. Petunia less so, seeing as she was almost entirely focused on Dudley, a boy who could stand to go outside a little more. And maybe get a decent nanny, if his parents were so inept. No nine year old should pitch a fit that would put a two year old to shame.

It actually hurt his ears to hear the child shriek for thirds.

Bruce's smile was plastered glass.

The conversation he barely paid attention to. Something about recent government changes. He played the ignorant billionaire once more.

Most of his attention was on the child. Harry. Harry Potter. He knew the name but he couldn't figure out where from. It was prickling the back of his neck until he wanted nothing more than to hunt down a computer.

He would figure it out eventually.

Dinner passed. Desert was bland.

Bruce thanked them with according grace at the door, and when Vernon made vague mention of doing it again he pounced.

"I'm free next Wednesday," he declared, "I'll be by around six."

He didn't give the sputtering salesmen time to object before he was crossing the front lawn to reach his expensive, rented car. He didn't care about the adults. Harry though.

Bruce stopped by the sidewalk to reach down and scratch a little grey cat behind the ears.

"You better get out of here, pretty kitty, before you meet a car up close and personal." He couldn't imagine Vernon, or anyone else in this neighborhood, swerving for a cat.

Bruce slipped into his car and drove away.

* * *

"Why would Morgan le Fey be in Gotham?"

He leaned on the desk of one Jason Blood, his eyes on the ancient man. Jason was pacing around his office, gathering seemingly miscellaneous items from around. There was no doubt in Batman's mind that they were for some spell or another.

"I do not know yet," Jason frowned severely. A stray strand of his white shock fell across his brow. The old Knight looked at the Dark Knight. A book appeared in his hands.

"What was that new exhibit in the museum?" he asked, eyes rolling up ever so to show his thoughts.

"The Sword of Beowulf? Or the new Monet's they found in France?" He was already keeping an eye on the latter. It was worth millions, there would be a massive target on the painting.

"Can't be those. Are there any Gala's I don't know about?" the book flipped open and Jason started muttering under his breath in Latin. Bruce mentally translated it.

'Cursed children run where demons fear to tread. Lilac skies and blue flowers mark the palace of the-'

Cursed Children.

"Harry Potter." The name struck him again, all at once. Jason lifted his head quickly, staring at Batman. His brows furrowed.

"What about him?" Jason had told him about the boy a few years ago, a passing mention when the anniversary of the fall of You-Know-Who (Who Bruce most certainly Did Not Know). An infant who had ended a war, and was left with a scar and dead parents to show for the deed. Bruce could sympathize. He'd recently taken in another orphan, in fact, a little acrobat named Dick Grayson.

"I met him last week," he recalled. "I sat across from him at the dinner table."

Jason 'hmm'd at him. "How is the boy?"

Bruce rolled his shoulders. Frowned under his cowl, further than he normally did.

"He's small," he said simply. He would look more into it, this week. He didn't like the size of the seven year old, or the rapid shut downs of Vernon.

"Part of Lydian Hoard is being displayed privately by Sophia Starr," Bruce recalled, his mind turning back to le Fey.

Jason's eyes narrowed. "Do you have an invitation handy?"

Batman's mouth twitched. "I think I can arrange something."

* * *

He kept inviting himself back for three months.

He claimed it was for the food.

He was lying through his teeth.

Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.

* * *

"So, Harry," Bruce began one evening, "Know any magic?"

He had volunteered to wash the dishes with the boy while Petunia, Vernon and Dudley all went to sit in the living room and watch the TV. It had taken him a few weeks before they were comfortable enough, or careless enough, to leave the little boy with Bruce alone. Did they think he wouldn't notice how scrawny he was? Or the harshly whispered threats of a cupboard?

Bruce had tried to get the British equivalent of Child Services to investigate, but a week afterwards he'd called and they had no record, nor recollection of his report. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

That had brought him here, today, doing his own investigation.

"Magic?" Harry kept his voice very quiet, looking up at Bruce through round glasses. His hair had gotten wet from a splash back and was plastered to his forehead, hiding the distinctive scar. His eyes were a very bright green, sparkling with a sort of mischief when his aunt and uncle weren't there to pay any attention to it.

"Yeah, magic," Bruce scrutinized the plate in his hand, rubbing circles around it with the scrubber that caught unpleasantly on his callouses.

Harry looked down at the glass he was holding, hunched forwards slightly.

"Uncle Vernon doesn't like magic," he said quietly. "He says there's no such thing and we shouldn't pretend that- um, stuff like that."

"He says we shouldn't stuff like that?" Bruce repeated, offering Harry a vaguely amused smile. He didn't want to scare the boy. He just wanted the truth. Whether he liked it or not.

Harry hunched in on himself a little.

"He says that magic is for freaks and he won't tolerate it in the house."

Anyone else wouldn't have heard the words. Anyone who did would have frozen, the anger boiling in their stomach stilling the hands from the work of cleaning off left over sauce.

Bruce heard. Bruce did not stop scrubbing nor did he grip the plate to hard it broke in his hands, though he could have easily.

Instead, Bruce nodded slowly and handed the plate to Harry with his drying cloth.

"I see," he said. Harry cringed and tried to shuffle away, but a wet hand on his shoulder stopped him. Children shouldn't flinch the way he did when he was touched.

Bruce spoke around icy spikes of fury in his throat. "It's okay," he promised, voice soft, "I won't tell anyone you told me. Was it supposed to be a secret?"

"I- I don't think so. But he doesn't like me talking to other people."

Bruce had figured as much.

"Then we'll just keep it between us, hmm?" Bruce winked at him. Harry smiled back, just a little, and they returned to dish washing.

Bruce left soon after that, mind tumbling with thoughts, plans, contingency plans and questions. He bid Vernon farewell (secretly wondering the best way to fire him) and complemented Petunia (trying to figure out if she was just an enabler or something more) and patted Dudley on the head (Deciding that firing his father might bring wrath upon an annoying but innocent child and dismissing that particular idea) before retreating to his car, parked around one of the perfectly manicured brushes that separated one dull house from the other.

He had to pause to breath, to slow the pulse beating in his neck and think more clearly. Less like Bruce, more like Batman. The cool air of twilight brushed across his jaw, and a soft sound brought his eyes down to the concrete where a little grey tabby sat.

Bruce moved his arms to she could jump up and sit in his lap, perfectly graceful.

Bruce sat in his open car door, petting the grey tabby in his lap. She was friendly, and usually there when he stopped by for Dinner with the Dursley's. _Wonderful_ as it was, Bruce considered the cat to be his favorite part of the evening, besides Harry and his occasional smart remark. Harry, who was leagues too small for an eight year old. He'd checked.

"You don't know anything about malnourishment, do you Grace?" He'd started calling the little cat that sometime ago. He couldn't say exactly when. "You can't be a stray," he declared. His fingers worked along her spine, feeling her ribs. There was a safe amount of muscle worked along beneath his grip, and when she started grooming herself he saw her claws were in working order and her gums weren't swollen.

No malnutrition on this cat.

He plucked her out of his lap and set her on the sidewalk, trading the cat for car keys.

"I wonder if Wizards have social services," he mused, shutting the door before he could see the feline reel back in surprise.

The cat watched him drive away, head tilted in thought.

* * *

When the fourth month finally rolled around and Bruce went to Privet Drive he found the door being opened by a white faced Vernon and red faced Petunia, the exact opposite of what he was accustomed to, and a wide eyed Harry being shoved into his legs.

Bruce caught him carefully, minding the way Harry shrunk away from his family and into Bruce's fine dress pants. He turned a frown up at the pair. Dudley was behind them, howling about Harry.

"I think I missed something," he said. Petunia had tears in her eyes but didn't seem to be able to speak, and Vernon. Vernon looked somewhere between terrified and furious, and the result had him quivering with tight muscles. Bruce was ready to take any hit he might go for, already starting to push Harry behind him when the man finally spat out a single sentence.

"Don't come back," Vernon's voice rose and cracked like a teenagers before the door slammed shut in Bruce's face. He blinked once. Twice. Thrice.

He looked down to see both Harry and Grace at his feet, one confused and scared and the other the sort of smug only a cat could be.

Dick was going to love this.


	2. Chapter 2

Bruce had been right.

When he came into the house with a second little boy and very determined cat perched proudly on his shoulders they were met with a flip off of the chandelier and a kind of curiosity he hadn't witnessed in his young ward, who was still deep in grief. Harry was quiet and unsure in the face of Dick's rapid fire questions and lack of personal boundaries.

Where was he from, why was he there, what did the scar come from?

"Dick," Bruce cut between them, minding Grace's already perfect balance, "Don't you have homework?"

The eight year old twisted his frown up at the billionaire.

"It's just algebra," he crossed his arms, "Easy stuff."

An eight year old who thought algebra was easy. What a novelty. The little Romani boy was a genius for numbers and technology. He'd already found a way around every firewall and block in the Gotham Academy computer systems. Bruce was glad he'd found him before someone else figured out he would have no trouble getting into government databases.

"Then you should have it done, shouldn't you?" he reasoned easily. When Dick hesitated to tell him so he pointed to the grand staircase, one of two that framed the entry hall to the massive manor. To his right, Harry was caught between gaping at the spacious opening or watching the pair he had come into.

"You can pester Harry when your homework's done," he declared.

Dick left with an exaggerated whine and a throw of his shoulders. That didn't stop him from running on top of the banister. Bruce watched him go with fondness.

"Dick means well. He's pretty excited to have another kid around, I bet," he told Harry, who still looked a little overwhelmed. A lot overwhelmed. Alfred appeared from the car with a single suitcase. Harry hadn't been sent with any clothes, or toys, or anything even close.

Bruce tried to keep his blood from boiling at the thought. They would rectify that as soon as possible.

For now, though, "How about you go pick out a room?" he suggested, trying to sound kind rather than furious. Children were good about picking up emotions. He didn't want to frighten the already skittish boy any more than he already had with the sudden move.

The move was a surprise on both of them, but he was an adult and he needed to act like it, even if he normally didn't outside of the cowl. Bruce wasn't sure what had spurred on the sudden change in the Dursley's, but when he'd gone to try and get Harry a passport he'd arrived to a pile of adoption papers as well. It had all been arranged, without anyone consulting him first.

 _Wizards_.

Arrogant, pompous, inconsiderate-

"My room?"

Harry was peering up at him from behind thick framed glasses. He looked like an owl.

Bruce gestured around them. "There's ten bedrooms that aren't being used for anything," he explained, watching Harry's eyes grow wider, "You can pick any one of them out. You'll have to borrow some of Dick's clothes for a day or so, until we can get into town. It shouldn't be too long" Bruce kept tacking things up on his list of things to do. He was totally unprepared for another kid.

 _Damn_ Wizards.

"Go ahead," he gestured to the stairs, and Harry took a few uncertain steps before a light went on in his eyes, some realization that Bruce would rather not analyze.

He took off, bounding with the excitement and grace of fawn.

Bruce felt Alfred appear over his shoulder, peering out at their newest addition. Grace had turned to watch him approach.

The old butler watched the boy go without so much as batting an eye. He did, however, arch a silvered brow.

"Are we starting our own orphanage now, Master Bruce?" His dry humor showed through. Bruce actually cracked a smile.

"It's not a bad idea. I'm starting to think I should," what with all the uncared for kids he kept finding running around. It would definitely be a better arrangement than a lot of group homes, and other arrangements, as he had learned all too well these past few months.

"Or at least increase that yearly donation to Gotham City Orphanage," he mused.

Alfred looked after the newest boy.

"Things are starting to look lively around the manor again." There was a note of fondness in Alfred's voice.

Bruce wondered if that was a good or a bad thing.

* * *

For years, Bruce had had his dinner in his office, or at a restaurant, or even at the big table in the dining room, fit to seat over a dozen people.

It hadn't been since he was a child himself that he used the round table in the sun room next to the kitchen. His mother had always had them eat breakfast and dinner together, when they could, and the little table kept the family of three close enough that they could talk and joke and be with each other instead of spread halfway across the room or crowded awkwardly around the end of one large table.

Sitting there, it was all too easy to remember the sun flowers she liked to put in a vase in the middle, and the tablecloth that Bruce and his dad had painted themselves for Mother's Day when he was barely four.

Still, he asked Alfred to set it for him and the boys. He was grateful that the old butler didn't say anything against it. Just arched a brow, smiled under his mustache, and went to get started.

That was how Bruce ended up sitting at the round table with two orphans, one recently made and one recently relinquished. The chicken steamed pleasantly in the middle of the table, and the two boys were watching him. Well, Dick was watching him, Harry was watching both of them and Bruce felt like he was supposed to say something.

"So," he began, "How are you liking your new room, Harry?"

"It's nice," he said quickly, "It's bigger than my cupboard."

Dick's head snapped around to stare at him. "Cupboard?" he repeated.

Harry nodded, like it was the most normal thing in the world. "The cupboard under the stairs. That's where I slept."

Bruce didn't say anything, though his eyes narrowed. The Dursley's had three bedrooms in the house. There was no reason for Harry to sleep anywhere but in one of them. He didn't say anything, just took a drink of his water and reached for the mashed potatoes.

"Oh."

Bruce had never seen Dick speechless before. It was kind of funny.

"But, I do like the new room, thank you," he added quickly, looking at Bruce.

"You're welcome. Do you want some green beans? It's probably not quite what you're used to, but Alfred is the best cook in the world. I should know, I've been all over it," Bruce gave him a winning smile. Harry returned it, small as it was.

He really hadn't said much, even when they were going through the airport and on the plane, he'd remained mostly silent. Bruce hadn't pushed him. He couldn't imagine how the boy was feeling. To be pushed away from the only family you'd ever known, into the arms of someone that you barely did-

Bruce hadn't planned on taking him in. He'd planned on finding some authority and having him relocated to somewhere safer, with relatives that were better than the Dursley's. The Potter's had been a pure blood family, and were by extension related to, well. All the other pure blood families. There were literally a half dozen options that could be better for the boy. Only, Vernon and shoved Harry at him and Harry had looked so confused, so frightened-

And now there were two children running around the mansion and Bruce hadn't even been sure he could handle _one._ Now he had an acrobat and a magician.

As Alfred said, things weren't going to be quiet around here any longer.

* * *

Bruce flipped through the paper while Alfred filled the mugs on the coffee table with steaming hot chocolate. Dick lay on his stomach near the fire, mumbling under his breath in a dialect of Romani that Bruce had no idea where to even start translating while he went over an English assignment. Harry sat in the corner, fiddling with a metal wire puzzle. He'd gotten two of five separated in the last half hour.

Rain pattered against ceiling, slowly gaining intensity.

Abruptly thunder rolled across the skies. Lightning crashed down onto the rooftops of Gotham, tearing a hole in the sky, spitting light down on the people bellow. The wind howled, tearing limbs from trees and throwing them against the walls of the Manor.

Harry let out a startled shout when the floor shook under their feet.

Every light in the room exploded at once, plunging the four into darkness. The shock from the thunder faded into a dull hum and the only sounds left was the rain and the panicked breathing of an eight year old boy.

Bruce stood up in the darkness and crossed the room, letting his footsteps be heard. He didn't need to see to know where Harry was.

He crouched down before him and reached, finding the child's small shoulder.

"I'm sorry!" Harry jerked under his touch. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry I didn't mean for it to happen I'm sorry please don't send me back I'll be good!"

Bruce frowned in the blackness, his stomach twisting with disgust at the Dursley's.

"You're not in trouble," he said quietly. Gently, his rubbed Harry's shoulder, trying to make him understand that nothing was going to happen to him.

There was a beat before, very haltingly, Harry asked, "I'm not?"

"No," Bruce promised. He heard Dick start to creep closer and the quiet clink of china when Alfred set down the pot and went to find candles, or the old oil lamps that were mostly for display but still worked fine in a pinch.

"Did you try and make all of the lights go out?" he asked, shifted over so he could catch Dick's hand and pull him into his other side.

"No…" Harry mumbled.

"Then it was just an accident. They happen, and no one got hurt so there's nothing to be upset about. Did the rain scare you?" He felt it when Harry nodded, long black hair brushing his wrist. "Come on," he was very careful when he scooped Harry up into the arm not holding Dick, noting the way he tensed and ready to let go if Harry tried to get away.

"Where are we going?" Dick asked, grabbing his shirt. He squirmed, but didn't try to get away.

"I know it's been a while since I was a kid, I remember forts always felt pretty safe when I was scared. You boys think we can build one in the dark?"

"That won't be necessary," Alfred said, materializing around the corner with a lit oil lamp in each hand. "I believe I can shed some light on the situation."

Dick snorted into Bruce's shoulder. Harry finally started to relax and looked up at Bruce, who made sure to smile kindly at him as he carried the pair off to the nearest living room that had a couch.

Before long, he and the boys were crammed between two sofa cushions, four pillows and under one fleece blanket. The storm rolled over their heads, but if they noticed no one cared.

The flickering light of one of the lamps cast long shadows over the sleeping face of Harry, tucked firmly against Dick's side.

* * *

Bruce waited a whole month for the boys to settle before he sat them down in the living room with a plate of chocolate chip cookies and hot chocolate. Bare branches tapped lightly across the window panes in the October winds. He had picked the date carefully.

He had locked up Crane earlier that week, thankfully, and the rest of his Rogues respected the Scarecrow's sole claim to Halloween enough he didn't worry that they would be stepping out in costume tonight either. Costumes a bit like the ones Harry and Dick were in.

They were Anakin Skywalker and Obi Wan Kenobi. Dick had a fake beard sitting in his lap and his escrima sticks, painted to be lightsabers, sitting by his side. Harry had used paint to extend his scar down over his eyebrow for the night, and kept his candy on the other side of him from Dick. Bruce sat across from them in a half-assed Dracula get up. His kids were watching him with interest. Grace had disappeared in the beginning of September, and had only returned a few Saturdays.

It had been a long six weeks for them all. Harry had to adjust to his new life, the fancy school and the high society functions that came with it. There was a lot of change, from the curriculum to the accents to the expectations he had as a Wayne Ward. There had also been no less than three people stopping him in the street to try and get a better look at the scar. Harry had taken to baseball caps rather quickly.

And, they both knew he was Batman now. He had been waiting for the right time to tell Harry about it, but after a disastrous night when Dick ran off to look for Tony Zucco on his own, he'd moved things ahead of schedule and explained it to them. He knew he couldn't keep it hidden forever, if he was living with them, but he'd thought he had more time.

Actually, Harry he could have said nothing to and the boy would have never known. He had the observation skills of a brick wall. Bruce would have to try and rectify that in the future, before it got him killed in a place like Gotham City.

Bruce wasn't very good with touchy feely stuff, so he settled for saying, very simply, "Harry's parents were killed on Halloween."

Dick jerked in surprise, and looked over at Harry who was staring at him again. Had they really never even bothered to tell him this much?

"They died in a car crash." Bruce wasn't sure if it was an argument or a question. Either way, Harry only looked a little uncomfortable.

"They were killed," he corrected, "Murdered. By a wizard."

Dick's face scrunched up. "Like a Wizard wizard? Or an Abra Kadabra wizard?"

"Wizard wizard. With magic and everything," not the mocked up science that Flash's villain used for his crimes. "Named Voldemort." Getting Jason to tell him the actual name had been like pulling teeth.

Harry's brows furrowed and he looked down at his knees. Bruce watched him pluck a sticker off of his knee.

"Why'd he do that?" The little boy inquired. There was a lack of sadness in his voice. In its place was confusion. Bruce didn't really blame him. He wasn't like either him or Dick, who had known their parents and had a connection to them. It was hard to grieve when you didn't know the person who died in the first place.

"Your parents were wizard soldiers, and he was a criminal," he said carefully. Kids could only comprehend so much at one time. "You're a wizard too."

Harry said blankly, "Huh?"

Bruce leaned closer to him. Slower, he repeated himself.

"You're a wizard, Harry."

* * *

Dick Grayson had seen a lot of weird stuff in the circus, and even weirder stuff since he got to Gotham City almost a whole year ago. But this? This took the cake.

"So, let me get this straight," he held up his hands. "You're a knight of the round table, but you got cursed and now you're always young, and you Jekyll and Hyde it with a real life demon when you're not being a Ghost Buster?"

"That's… one way of putting it," Jason Blood said at length.

Dick kicked his legs back and forth, tapping the heels of his shoes against the wooden base of the sofa. Harry sat close to him, staring around them with poorly disguised wonder. There were books packed into every shelf, weird things in jars and shiny pieces of metal that blurred if he looked at them too long. A jewel sat on the cluttered desk in front of the window that Dick's eyes kept skittering off. He was determined to see if it was green or blue, regardless of whether his brain wanted him to or not.

Bruce stood next to the window, staring out at the dimly lit street. There was no doubt in his mind that he was watching them like a hawk.

He was Batman, after all.

"And you're going to teach Harry magic? Because he's a wizard?"

"I'm going to teach him some basic control," Jason corrected, "Wizards go to school when they turn eleven."

"Why eleven?"

"Because that's when magic is usually developed enough to really be molded. Right now it's not stable enough to learn actual spells, just enough that he can probably get enough of a handle on it that he won't blow up light bulbs whenever he knocks the coffee table."

Dick leaned over on Harry's shoulder, grinning.

"Dude! You can do magic! That's so cool."

Harry turned his head away, trying and failing to hide his smile.

"You think so?"

"Well, duh!"

Dick didn't know Harry's aunt and uncle and cousin. He hoped he never met them. If he did, he couldn't be held responsible for how much hair, or skin, they all lost. Harry didn't talk about them much, but what he did say was enough that Dick wanted to march all the way over to the UK and light their nice, normal little house on fire.

Harry was his friend and they were mean to him, they called him a freak and put him in a cupboard and didn't let him have clothes or real food or play games or anything! And they let his cousin hit him and push him around and do something called 'Harry Hunting' and that wasn't okay.

Not at all.

He was pretty sure they were the reason Harry didn't laugh when he smiled and ate so fast, like they were going to take his plate away if he didn't. Bruce said he had to go easy on him, because Harry was shy.

Dick didn't think Harry was shy. He thought he was scared.

So he was being nice, and he was going to watch out for Harry no matter what.

They were family now. All any of them had. Bruce took care of Dick and now Dick was going to take care of Harry and that was that.

Nodding firmly to himself, Dick slung his arm around Harry's slim shoulders.

"Go ahead. Let's see some magic!" he encouraged. Harry had finally stopped twitching when Dick touched him, and now just leaned into him, relaxed.

"I don't know how," Harry said. His hands were clasped in his lap.

Jason stood up, smoothing the white streak of hair back into place and moved towards the desk with a surprising amount of grace for a dude with a cane. He pulled the curtains shut, leaving them in just the dim light of the lamp on the desk and the incandescent glow of eyes on a painting on the wall.

"Then we better get started."

* * *

Dick was nine years old when he made his debut as Robin.

Harry, against Bruce's better judgement, followed him four months after.

It was hard, Dick already had a long history of being an acrobat, he was already strong and fast and knew how to land from heights and roll with a fall. He was already a budding detective.

What Harry lacked in, well, all of that he made up for in a stupid amount of luck and a stubborn streak a mile long. He was determined that if they were going to be out there risking their lives, helping people, bringing justice and limping home in the middle of the night, he would be too.

It didn't matter how rough the training was or how hard he had to fight to be able to catch up and keep up with Dick, he refused to stop, furiously tenacious and willing to put his blood sweat and tears into learning to fight, learning to be silent and swift and take the blows that came at him even when they hurt. He didn't care for bullies, of any sort, to the point that he had taken in a small python from a drug dealers house a week ago when it told him it hadn't been fed in almost a month and its water was almost always soiled. He had a big heart and a strong sense for justice.

That was something Bruce could respect him for.

He did not, however, like that the boys were using their skills outside of the cape.

"Explain to me," he began, slowly, "why you thought it was a good idea to fill her locker with two dozen _cafe con leche_ and leave it there over the weekend, with a jar of raspberries?"

The two boys, sitting in front of him in the principal's office of Gotham Academy, stared hard at the tile under his feet. Neither one was willing to talk.

Bruce crossed his arms and stared them down. They all knew in a battle in wills he would win. He was patience given human form. They weren't going to win.

It was Dick that cracked first.

"They were talking about Harry!"

"Dick," Harry hissed, elbowing him. Dick ignored him and stared right at Bruce.

"They said they weren't surprised that no one else wanted him, and he was just a charity case!"

Harry turned red and shoved the older boy. "They were talking about him too! They said that the only reason Dick was here and not back at the circus where 'freaks' like us belong was because you own the school! That if it weren't for you they knew exactly where we'd be."

Bruce didn't know if Dick was glaring more at him or Harry.

He rubbed his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, trying to calm the budding headache. He didn't know they were having problems. He knew that they would probably get in some trouble, they were new to wealth, and they were orphans. There was a reason Alfred decided to homeschool Bruce most of his life and it wasn't just because he liked his company.

They hadn't told him they were actually getting bullied.

He couldn't say they should have told a teacher. He may not have gone to school but he knew that there wasn't much any of the teachers could do about it. Separate them in class, keep them in different wings of the school but there weren't many punishments they could give for just talking.

For breaking into another student's locker and leaving food to rot? That, they could suspend kids for.

Bruce looked over at Headmaster Hammer. The last school he'd gone too had been Gotham Academy, years ago, before Hammer had expelled him for getting into a fist fight. He'd never thought fondly of Bruce afterwards, even after his parents had died. Now, Bruce wondered if he wasn't part of why Alfred kept him from going back.

He thought the man would turn his dislike of Bruce on his boys, when this happened. Instead, he was regarding them with a bit more compassion than he had Bruce.

"You're both suspended," he said, glancing at Bruce for but a moment, "three days. "

"Why don't you two go wait in the car? I'm sure Alfred has something to say about this too."

Dick winced and Harry went sheet white before the skulked away, out the door. It shut behind them, but they didn't leave. Eavesdroppers.

"I'm not taking off the punishment just because you're on the board," Hammer said immediately. "Your money can buy you a lot of things, Bruce, but I-"

"You're not one of them," Bruce interceded swiftly. "I know. That's one of the reasons I always advocate for you to keep your position. If I can't buy you, no one can. You're fair to the kids. Even my kids."

"They didn't do anything to deserve being here," Hammer said. Other people said the same thing, but the way he said it was a note of sympathy instead of irritation. "They're my students, same as the rest. No matter who pays for their tuition," he said archly.

Bruce's mouth twitched. "If you cared that much about who pays tuition, all of the scholarship kids would be expelled on site."

Hammer snorted at him. "This is an institute of learning, when it can be. When it's not a glorified circus for clowns and riddles and alligators-"

"Crocodiles."

"Are you sassing me, Bruce Wayne?" Hammer narrowed his eyes at him.

Bruce lifted his hands, smiling sheepishly. "Who, me? Never."

"I certainly hope those boys don't pick up on your manners. They may return on the seventh, and no sooner. Off with you. And you two!" he raised his voice at the door, "No more of these petty stunts! I won't tolerate it."

There was a started squeak and a sharp hiss from the other side of the door.

Bruce sighed fondly.

"I'll talk to them. I hope the next time we see each other, it's under better circumstances," Bruce said, making for the door.

Hammer scoffed audibly behind him. "Not likely."

Bruce slipped out the door and dropped a hand on both boys' shoulders, guiding them away. He made sure he was out of view of the security cameras before he looked down at the weary face of Harry and the narrowed eyes of Dick. Maybe it was bad parenting, maybe he should have been teaching them that in all things vengeance wasn't equal to justice. But teachers weren't going to get justice for them, and it was just harmless pranks so...

"Do me a favor. Next time, don't get caught. "


	3. Chapter 3

Talon sat next to Robin on top of the taco truck, humming merrily to drown out the sound of Batman and Catwoman flirting on the roof top above them. He had learned that it was better to just wait it out, or even go home, than wait for the pair to give up on their date.

He could hear Bruce telling him it _wasn't a date._

A trussed up, would-be-robber lay on the sidewalk against the nearest building, his eye starting to swell. He'd have a shiner in the morning.

"How long do you think they'll be?" he asked Robin.

Robin leaned back, tilting his head up to look back at where the pair was dancing. A whip cracked in the night. A bat-a-rang flashed in the moonlight.

"A while," he said at last, sitting forwards again. "Think they'll kiss goodnight?"

Talon snorted. "No way."

A soft thump at his back was his only warning before the boy was pulled back into someone's chest, a strong arm gripping his shoulders tightly. It was definitely not Batman's Kevlar and carefully plated armor, and there was no cape tickling the back of his neck.

"Hello, miss," Talon said politely. She ruffled his hair fondly and yanked Robin's cape over his head before shoving them both unceremoniously onto the ground.

Talon sat up, Robin whined about his lost taco and Catwoman went sprinting into the night, Batman hot on her tail. The two sidekicks looked at each other before Robin shrugged and went back to knock on the truck. A man appeared in the window, looking out at the pair of them.

Talon popped up next to Robin, smiling angelically up at him.

" _Two more, please,"_ he waved at him. His Spanish was still very, very rough, but he was working on it! He would be good soon, and his accent was no worse than his English one. As long as they could understand him. And, the Martinez' thought he was cute and let him practice on them when they passed the truck on their patrols.

Carlos said something to Pedro that he didn't catch and the pair disappeared to the side and got to work.

"Do you think we should wait for them or just go back to the cave?" Talon asked, helping Robin clean up the ruined taco on the ground. They threw away the poor waste of food and took the new ones from the brothers that ran the best taco truck in Gotham City.

"Probably go back. Or," Robin glanced sideways at him, hard to see with the mask.

"Or?" Talon prompted.

"We could finish the patrol on our own."

A deep, rough voice echoed from behind them.

"Not a chance."

Both boys jumped nearly out of their skin, Talon shouting his surprise as he spun around and swung at Batman, who stepped back to avoid it. He loomed over them, tall dark and menacing.

"Busted."

* * *

Wayne Manor was beautiful at all times of the years, but Harry liked the spring best of all.

When the flowers that Alfred so carefully tended in the garden bloomed, bright and light and cheerful. The snow melted away from the grey Gotham City, leaving the water to run clear and clean. Bleak weather left from snow storms to spring showers and sunlight.

Spring was his favorite season, too, because they got a break from school.

Harry liked school well enough. He really liked learning, and not being made to sit in the back of the class by his cousin. He liked the teachers telling him when he'd done well, and he really liked not doing Dudley's homework for him and never getting his own done on time. More than any of that he liked having a friend at school with him.

It was usually just him and Dick.

Even though Dick was always so friendly and nice to everyone, there was a line drawn in the sand. One that separated the scholarship kids from the rich kids, and one that separated the two orphans from both.

The scholarship boys and girls thought that, because they were rich now, they were arrogant and lazy. The rich kids thought the same.

The end result was that by the time spring rolled around Harry was ready to do just about anything if it got him away from the funny sort of isolation that made up his days at Gotham Academy.

When Spring came along, all of the evidence that he didn't belong went away.

It was just him, Dick, Bruce and Alfred and nothing and no one to tell them that they didn't belong together, with or without blood.

That spring, Harry was introduced to a very good friend.

He was helping Alfred carry bags of fertilizer out into the garden when he heard the voice for the first time. A low breath that came in one ear and out the other.

Harry stopped walked and looked around, trying to pinpoint where the sound had come from. It sounded like someone was speaking, but he couldn't find them. There were no humans in the roses or hiding under the wheelbarrow. But, he knew the voice came from nearby.

So where?

"Master Harry?" Alfred asked, looking back at him. There was a trowel in his hand.

"Did you hear someone?" he asked.

"I didn't hear a thing," Alfred said.

Harry narrowed his green eyes at the foliage around them, trying to pick out where the sound had come from. There had to be someone there, but when he listened he heard no ones breath, and when he looked there were no hiding spaces near enough he would have heard hushed voices.

It was neither Dick nor Bruce, they were both too good for him to have heard them in the first place. So who? Who?

 _"_ _-can't find where they went!"_

There!

Harry dropped to his knees suddenly, almost face planting in a bag of fertilizer to shove his face down into the dirt. He'd never minded getting dirty, the only real time he'd ever had to himself before he'd been brought home by Bruce had been the times when he'd been doing the weeding and gardening for Aunt Petunia. Now, he was happy to spend the time with Alfred.

Under the shrug, tongue flicking out rapidly in nervous energy, was a ball python.

Not a little green Gardner snake like he'd seen at a distance, it was a brown and spotted serpent like he'd seen in pet shop windows and at demonstrations at the zoo. It's bright eyes were wide and he could barely see them rolling around, but it was the tongue that gave away the fear.

"Hello?" Harry asked quietly. The snake stopped moving and lifted its head, looking around.

"Who's there?" the snake asked. Harry knew, distantly, that talking to snakes was weird, but honestly he'd given up on trying to figure out how it all worked. As long as he wasn't causing too much trouble he would was fine waiting for Hogwarts to teach him more about the details of magic.

"I'm Harry. Are you lost?" he asked. He held out his hand and the snake flicked its tongue out at him before It slowly slithered into his palm. He realized that Alfred was watching him closely when he pulled back with a small snake in his hand. The python was heavy, its smooth scales catching on his hands while it rolled around his fingers.

" _I was in a box. We were moving and now I'm not inside anymore!"_

"Let's try and find the box," Harry suggested. He tucked the snake into his pocket and started walking through the garden, searching for a box that the snake had come out of. It shouldn't have been in the garden at all. Wayne Manor was pretty secluded, a big fence blocked them off from the ret of the world.

"Going somewhere?" Alfred asked, looking at him still. There was something in his eyes that Harry didn't quite understand. Still he nodded and pointed to the little python head poking out of his pocket, tongue still flickering out regularly to taste the air.

Harry made his way through the garden, minding his feet as he searched.

He found a box near the gate, broken open cardboard. It spilled wood shavings out into the carefully maintained grass. There wasn't a logo on the side, it was just a box, and when he poked around the wood shavings he couldn't find anything else that might give away who had brought it there. It was close enough to the fence that it wouldn't have been hard to throw it over from the other side, where the road cut through the distance.

"Where were you before you were here?" Harry asked, pulling the snake out of his pocket.

The little serpent sat in his hand, head hanging down towards the ground. He wasn't long enough to reach it.

 _"_ _I was in my house. Then the kids picked me up and put me in the box. It was so cold…"_

Harry brought the snake closer to his chest, frowning. They'd thrown a snake over a fence. Why? Who would do that? And, where was the snake going to go now? Harry huddled the reptile closer, trying to share his body heat while he turned around and ran back to the manor, searching for Bruce.

Harry stared at the letters in his hands. Grace was curled on his lap while he sat cross legged in front of the fireplace in the third parlor. A cup of cooling hot chocolate was set by his knee, along with a scattered handful of bird-a-rangs.

Dick lay upside down on the couch, his bare feet laying limply across the back of it while he watched the younger bird.

"Where are you going to go?" he asked after a few minutes.

Harry made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. He didn't know. There were twelve invitations here, one from each North American school, and one from Hogwarts. He was eleven, he knew he had to go away for magic school, or get private lessons, but everyone they knew didn't do the right kind of magic.

Zatara was Homo Magi, not even human technically, and the Atlanteans were underwater, where Harry had no desire to spend a whole school year. Jason Blood was about his only option for a private tutor, and while Harry liked him he was always preoccupied with Morgan le Fey. Never mind Etrigan's single minded determination to find the ancient witch.

So he had to go to a school.

Three of the American schools had buses that would pick up the kids in the morning and drop them off in the afternoon, and four of them were connected by floo.

They could also make arrangements to get a Port Key so he could go back home instead of staying there the whole time. There was no way he could miss a whole school years' worth of training, patrols, and emergencies. Or maybe they could set up a zeta site near or in the school. He'd been told that there were supposed to be charms to keep No-Maj's from finding it, however they'd checked on Google Earth and either Wizards didn't know about satellites or they didn't know much about technology period.

Harry would say it was safe to assume both. He would find out if his phone worked when he got there. Wherever 'there' was.

Harry frowned down at the papers. He could stay in America, and at least be a little close to home, or.

Or, he could attend his parents' alma mater.

That had a surprising amount of appeal for him. Harry always was curious about his parents, and Bruce tried to tell him all he could, but there was only so much that he could say without having known them personally. It would be a chance to get an idea of what James and Lily Potter had known while they were young and alive.

Normally, he wouldn't get the invitations for the other schools. It was expected to school in the country one was born in, but America had called bullshit on that years ago and Gotham was situated smack in the middle of the radius that five schools used to determine their students. The rest, well. He _was_ Harry Potter.

"What do you guys think?" he asked, looking down at Grace. To his left Spot came out from under the couch, rolling over his own coils to show off flashes of black and silver along his length. The ball python slithered across the papers, mussing them up and crinkling a few. Grace bared a single fang at him.

Harry ignored their apparent rivalry. "Well?" he hissed.

Spot looked up at him. " _I've never been to England before_ ," the serpent mused. Grace reached out to swipe him and ended up getting the Hogwarts letter caught on her claws.

Dick snickered at the sight of the cat trying to shake the paper off of her paw. Harry plucked the thick parchment away from her. He smiled and scratched her chin at the antics.

"I guess that's that," he shrugged and looked up at Dick, who had flipped around to face them.

The boy, who was younger by 5 months but acted like he was older, dropped onto the carpet next to Harry. He tucked his legs under him, taking the supply list from Harry. He ran his eyes over it for a few minutes before peering over top at Grace.

"They say you can bring a cat, a toad, or an owl. Are you taking her?" he asked, pointing at the cat. Grace looked up at him, her tail flicking.

Harry shook his head. "No. Grace isn't my cat," she came and went as she pleased. "I'll try to take Spot though."

"You're going to break the rules the second you step on the grounds?" Dick asked. A grin appeared on his face. "I like your style."

"It's not like we didn't do worse at Gotham Academy," he made point to mention. He almost pitied their teachers, and the poor souls who thought holding up a high school of Gotham Elite was a good idea. They hadn't been seen in the city since.

"Yeah. Don't mess with the wizards too bad," Dick tried to deter. Harry smiled angelically.

"Who, me?"


	4. Chapter 4

Harry turned the wand license over in his hands, running his fingers across the carefully folded creases. They, he, Bruce, and Dick, stood in front of a rundown novelty shop on Oakcrest. The store name had long been smudged out and there was a crack spider webbing across the window. On display were a couple of old books, a handful of tacky bracelets and something that might have been a candle and might have been a freeze dried lizard.

The only way one knew this was a real magic store and not a knock off occult hovel was the small flash of white in the corner of the doorway. A small white sticker the shape of a poorly drawn 'N' and a wiggly 'A'. Certificates from the local branch of MACUSA.

The trio walked inside and by passed all of the little odds and ends to duck through a bead curtain that shone with spells and glamour's behind the counter. It opened up to reveal vast shelves on the inside. A great glass wall took up one whole side of the back room, revealing a stern looking witch in bright orange robes watching two diligent young artisans toiling over a long work bench.

Harry had been told that every major city in the US had at least one wand shop, to accommodate the vast magical population. There were more wizards and witches in the US than there were in any other country on earth, save perhaps Australia. They were mostly wizards.

Another witch, this one in a smart, tailored pant suit came from around the corner to see who had entered the shop. Her hair was cropped into a short violet faux hawk.

"Harry Potter?" she guessed. She held out her hand and he gave her his new license. Maybe it was less of a guess and more of just a greeting. Everyone in Gotham knew the Wayne Wards, Gotham's Golden Boys. There were less kind names for them, Orphan Trio and the like, but Harry preferred Gotham's Golden Boys. Wayne Wards made too much of a distinction that they weren't Bruce's technical sons.

"That's me, hello," Harry smiled at her. Bruce's large hand fell on his shoulder and tension he didn't know he had bled out.

"Looks right," she nodded and went to set his license on a desk in the corner. "I'm Heather Aster. Let's get you a wand, Harry."

She motioned for Harry to join her at the desk. He did, trying not to stare at the young men working on the other side of the glass. One of them tried to push something thin into a chunk of wood and an explosion of smoke billowed into his face.

Harry turned away from them to look at Heather, who had pulled out five nondescript boxes and set them on the desk between them. Dick poked his head curiously over Harry's shoulder, blue eyes bright.

"Pick up each box and see which one your magic resonates with the best," Heather said.

Harry picked up the one on the far left and turned it over in his hands. He tried to focus on the feeling of his magic, the energy that filled him whenever he lost his temper. A crack of thunder and an exploded light bulb.

The box in his hands rattled before it fell silent. Harry looked at Heather for some kind of instruction. Was that good? Bad? Had he done it wrong?

Heather offered him a smile. "Go ahead and try the next one."

Harry did, and received a repeat performance. The third box rewarded him by growling like a jungle cat, which sparked Heather's interest. Still, she motioned Harry along. He tried the forth box.

Thunder rolled through his hands and lightning exploded between his fingertips. His hair stood on end and the smell of rain invaded the room. Wind whipped around his face.

"Um," he said, putting the box back down.

"Try the last one," Heather encouraged, though her eyes stayed on the forth box. Harry did so, and it didn't make a sound at all.

Heather nodded to herself. "Thunderbird tail feather it is. This way."

She lead the trio away from the desk and down one row of shelves that went from floor to ceiling.

"We make wands out of five cores. Wampus Cat hairs, Rougarou hair, White River Monster Spine, Glawacus heart strings, and Thunderbird Tail feathers," she told them as they strode down the aisle.

"Wonder which one you got," Dick elbowed Harry lightly. Harry shoved him.

"Thunderbird Tail Feather," Heather went on, ignoring their antics, "Produce particularly powerful wands. Though they are difficult to master, once properly bonded with their owners they will perform any spell exceptionally, though transfigurers prize them more than others. They've even been known to sense danger and cast curses on their own."

Heather ran her fingers along the shelves, stacked high and packed with long, slim boxes. Harry couldn't imagine how anyone could make so many.

"At one time there were three major wand manufacturers in the US, but about fifty years ago they and their descendants got together and started a school for wandcraft. My partner Olvia and I are both certified wandsmiths and graduates, those three in there are our interns," she flipped her fingers towards the glass window, which they could no longer see. "Every wand here was made by either me, or Olvia."

Harry listened intently to the lecture while Heather pulled a box out of the wall and plucked the wand from within. She handed it over to Harry.

"Give it a wave," she instructed. No sooner had Harry lifted the wand than it was out of his hands and back in the box. One by one boxes marched off the shelves, lining up. One was shoved into his hands, then another and another. Harry barely touched most before they were gone, listening to Heather mutter woods under her breath.

 _Yew, Holly, Vine, Oak, Redwood, Dogwood, Sugar Pine._

Sequoia made her pause she before she fairly threw the wand off into a corner, where the box flew to catch and keep it safe.

She shoved another in his hands and Harry gasped. His fingers tingled, electricity raced up his arms and he lifted his hand above his head to release a hard explosion of lighting towards the ceiling. Dick yelped and jumped back against Bruce and Heather threw her head back and laughed.

"Finally!" she grinned at Harry and he realized she had a piercing under her upper lip. "That right there is a Sitka Spruce Wand with a Thunderbird Tail feather, twelve inches long. Pretty flexible, huh?"

Harry turned the wand over in his hand, looking down at it curiously. The wood was warm in his fingers, smooth and, if wood could be, soft. It was a dark, rich brown, thinner at the top than at the bottom. Almost perfectly straight, with only a small bend to it. Something flashed down near the base and when Harry saw what it was he smiled. Mother of Pearl had been laid into the wood, twisting from a single crescent at the bottom to lead up an inch to form a tiny, delicate bird in flight.

"Now, when I made that wand I knew it wouldn't pick just anyone, and make no mistake, the wand picks the wizard. See, Thunderbird Tail feathers, I already told you, can be difficult to master. But that wand is Sitka Spruce. I'd say out of all the wood we use, that's the one that gets the most ideas in its head."

She must have seen Harry's utter confusion, for she clarified, "It likes to try and decide which spell to cast. You'll need a firm hand to work with it, put together with the feather it's a pretty stubborn wand. Which might actually be a good thing. Spruce likes people who are bold and have a sense of humor, and once you're bonded, then that's that. Sitka Spruce in particular would sooner light itself on fire than let someone other than its true owner handle it. Plus, the pearl," she pointed to the design at the base, "adds an effect of its own. Mother of Pearl is fiercely protective. You've got a loyal wand there, Harry Potter. If you can prove you're worthy of it."

Harry wrapped his fingers around the wand, feeling it warm in his grasp. A fire flickered inside his stomach, electricity rolled through his arms.

* * *

Gotham city was dark. It was always dark, of course, but nighttime only made things all the worse. Cold crept in, even in August. Harry was protected from most it, courtesy of his short cape, the one that fluttered dramatically about his elbows as he crouched on the head of a gargoyle. Dick was tucked against a window across the street, draped in darkness.

Even after three years doing this Harry couldn't see where Bruce had gone. He just knew that he was there, watching over them. He always was.

"Talon," the voice came in over a com link hooked into his ear. Harry straightened minutely.

"Here," he reported. He tucked his knee against his chest, readying to pitch himself off of his perch and into the night. A party was going on across the street, a club run by one of the biggest mob families in the city.

"Tell me what you see."

Harry withheld a groan. He hated this game.

The boy narrowed his eyes, grateful for the contacts, and tried to zero in on the movement below. That much he could do without trouble.

"How many bouncers have been there in the two hours?" Batman inquired. Harry bit the inside of his cheek. He hadn't been paying attention that long.

"Four?" he guessed.

Batman's silence spoke volumes. He moved on to his other charge.

"Robin."

"Five, unless you count the one that came back with coffee. He doubled back again to kick the redhead out," Dick reported easily. Harry felt a sliver of unpleasantness push through his lungs. He frowned down at the street below them.

"If there are five that rotated in in the last two hours, then there's still three we haven't seen yet," Harry estimated. There were four doors, two guards were posted at each door. Probably more than that for the inside, considering the crowd that gathered.

Harry tapped his glove to bring up a blueprint of the building. He counted the number of legal rooms, thought about the other bases they had explored before.

"There's probably forty in all," the boy concluded.

Batman's grunt came over the coms. "We'll go in through the far east entrance."

That was the end of the conversation, Harry knew. Once they were working it was all body language, hand signs, and understanding.

Dick worked more smoothly like that than he did.

When he saw the aforementioned door start to crack open Harry counted to four before he pitched himself across the street, using a grappling hook to help him along the way.

He hit the roof silently.

He met Dick halfway across and the pair moved as shadows, dropping one after the other behind the backs of the guards and slipped in before the door could shut completely after the leaving guests. 'Guests' in this case meant well-dressed crooks with fat pockets.

The two were out of sight and never even in mind as they rushed through the hallways, Harry in the lead. He slipped into a vent first opportunity, and was just as quiet there as he was in the halls. It was a talent he had developed quickly when they started their training with Batman.

Harry had been good at sneaking already, he had to be around the Dursley's house. Vernon didn't like it when he was a bother, and making too much noise while the family was trying to watch TV definitely counted towards that.

Harry paused at three was turn in the vents. He tapped one of the buttons on his glove, the one that was closest to the edge that stopped just shy of his elbow. A hologram popped up and he frowned. The schematics only showed a T in the path. So where was the extra pathway from?

Where did it go?

"Talon?" Robin's voice was barely audible. "Which way are we going?"

To the left he knew that the office of the don lay, where they were supposed to get in to download his files and find any other information he kept in there. Records, personal items, anything. To the right was the kitchen, he could smell the chicken roasting from where he was tucked into the vents. Idle prattle filtered in. Phil was fighting with his wife, apparently.

"Somethings up," he breathed. He didn't wait for further instruction, or argument, before he was crawling straight forwards. Into the unknown.

Dick was right after him, just as quiet.

Harry stopped at grated vent and peered through, into the room beyond. It was a luxury room for sure. Huge couches and walls covered in TV's were matched with one of the biggest racks of alcohol that Harry had ever seen in his life. No one was there, but the TV's were on and playing. Security videos from all over the club, including some that featured blatantly illegal activities. On one was a pair of men opening wine crates to inspect mass artillery inside.

In another, a group of teenagers leaned against a wall, their eyes glassy. The image was fuzzy, and his angle wasn't the best, but Harry would bet money that there were spots on the insides of their arms.

The boy checked for cameras and personnel before he loosened the grate and eased it silently into the vent. He pushed himself out, into the air, and dropped onto his hands, holding his feet in the air. Dick jumped out after him, flipping onto and off of a couch before he got to the monitors.

"Robin, Talon, report," Batman ordered over their radios.

"We found a surveillance room," Robin said quietly. He plugged into one of the monitors and started hacking into the system. It was only minutes before Harry's glove flashed and he knew they were all linked up to the cameras. Robin was good at this.

"Your job was to get into the office."

Harry cringed at the light scolding. Bruce preferred when they obeyed his orders. By which Harry meant that if they didn't listen to him while they were working he would ground them for it. Or implement any number of other sadistic punishments. Just thinking about it made Harry's legs hurt with strained muscles.

Not that he would do so for this. This wasn't disobedience, this was initiative. There was a difference between the two.

"We're going there now," Harry promised.

Dick's head jerked upright a second before Harry's. Footsteps tapped lightly on the other side of the door, sending the pair sprinting to the vents. Dick took the lead this time, and Harry followed. This was the last mission he was going to be a part of for the next few months.

Hogwarts started in a week. He had to get ready.

* * *

Harry trailed along behind Bruce, looking around the street at the vaguely familiar surroundings. He had been in London a few times before, for his cousin's birthday once, and on business with Bruce a time or two after that. They had never ventured onto this particular street though.

London was a far cry from Gotham city. They both held the same overcast skies, and the same old buildings, but London was lighter. The air was less oppressive, the streets less dirty, and the people on them less sharp. For the first time in a great many years Harry didn't feel eyes watching his every move, and for that he was grateful.

"That's it," Bruce pointed across the street, his sharp eyes locked on the small building.

It was a tiny, grubby-looking pub. If Bruce hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. The people hurrying by didn't glance at it. Their eyes slid from the big book shop on one side to the record shop on the other as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. Which, given what he knew about wizards, Harry didn't doubt it to be true.

This was different from Gotham as well. In Gotham they had wizarding stores, all labelled as 'occult' or something of the like. The magic was kept in back rooms and basements, or lofts, and the storefronts were out for all the world to see, magic and otherwise.

In Gotham there was little need to hide it with effort, if only because the people there were so used to keeping their heads down they wouldn't look twice as a man dressed oddly, except to cross the street away from him. They wouldn't remember the dodgy looking characters holding sticks out in front windows for more than a day. It would become a story told in passing, alongside 'the coffee at Elmer's sucks' or 'I pet a dog on the way in'.

Harry followed Bruce's jog across the street and ducked into the building right behind him.

It was very dark and shabby. A few old women were sitting in a corner, drinking tiny glasses of sherry. One of them was smoking a long pipe that smelled like sweet tobacco, alternative to overpowering smell of weed Harry had grown to attach to smokers. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who was both bald and who looked like a toothless walnut, wrinkles folding across his ancient face. Harry remembered a Shar Pei the neighbors had on Privet drive for a few months, before it ate the couch and lost its home. If this was 101 Dalmatians that would be the dog for this man.

Eyes turned to them but in his street clothes Bruce Wayne was as inconspicuous as they came. You couldn't tell him from other young fathers. They went up to bar and waited patiently for the little man to stop talking to the walnut man.

"Excuse me," Bruce said politely. "I'm supposed to be taking my kid to get his school supplies for Hogwarts, but I'm not much of a… magical person. I don't suppose you can help me out? A friend said this was the way to Diagon Alley."

The man behind the counter smiled, or so Harry assumed from the shift in his face. It was a little hard to tell.

"First year then?" he guessed.

Bruce nodded and smiled sheepishly, playing the part to a frightening T. He placed his hand on the boy's shoulder.

"Harry got his letter last month," he confirmed.

Harry smiled politely and nodded to the bartender, sending his bangs bouncing around. They hadn't had time to get his haircut yet. Not that his hair wanted to be cut. It grew back within hours.

The bartender grew still. He stared at Harry, and the scar on his head.

"Harry?" he repeated, a smidge louder. The rest of the bar grew very, very still. Harry swallowed some of his embarrassment. He was a Wayne kid. He was used to this. He still didn't know how much he liked it.

"Harry Potter, sir. Hello."

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter," the man got all choked up, "what an honor."

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand. There were tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. He knew what he had apparently done but American Wizards didn't do this. He shook the man's hand awkwardly, smiling through it and trying to embrace the fame. It was better, he supposed, than being recognized for Bruce rather than himself.

The scraping of chairs drew his attention away from the bartender and between one blink and the next, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron. It was like a Wayne social function only he wasn't choking on a bow tie. All of them started talking to him at once, so much that if he hadn't had practice his head would have spun right off his shoulders.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Potter, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand - I'm all of a flutter."

The man in the top had had come away from the bar to grip Harry's hand in both of his while he introduced himself with a rapid, "Delighted, Mr. Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle."

"I've seen you before!" said Harry, and Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop," he recalled. It was some time ago, before he'd lived with Bruce, so the memory was faint but Harry had a good mind for faces.

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!" Harry shook hands again and again, like he couldn't get enough of shaking Harry's hand. He looked over at Bruce for help from the trap but Bruce was smiling in a way that said he wasn't getting any.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching and he wouldn't stop fiddling with his hands. There was a purple turban propped on his head and Harry was reminded vaguely of the Mad Hatter. It made his skin itch.

"P-P-Potter," stammered the man, grasping Harry's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you. I'm Pr-Professor Quirrell. One of t-teachers at Hogwarts."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked, his attention zeroed in on this character. Speech impediment, massive anxiety. He wouldn't meet Harry's eyes directly.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts," muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not think about it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?" He laughed nervously and Harry frowned ever so slightly. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself." He looked terrified at the very thought. Harry felt a bit bad for the nervous man.

But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. Others kept coming back, trying to talk to him. The woman with the pipe looked horror stricken when she accidentally smeared ash on his long sleeves.

At last Bruce cleared his throat, and just like that he had gone from silent watcher to a man who commanded attention and respect. One day, Harry would learn that trick.

"We really do need to get Harry's school supplies. Can someone show us the way?"

There was a rapid scramble of activity, everyone volunteering at once but it was Professor Quirrell that Harry picked out of the crowd.

"If you don't mind, professor. It could be my first lesson from you," Harry tried to give him his best charming smile and from the way one of the woman pinched his cheek he was sure he'd just ended up looking cherubic.

Quirrell bobbed his head like a pigeon. "Of c-course. No pr-problem at all," he stumbled over his words, and almost fell over himself getting out the other side of the Leaky Cauldron.

The door opened behind them just as they left and Harry heard the bartender cry to a man named Hagrid about what he'd just missed.

Quirrell pointed to the stones above a trash can.

"Up th-three, over two," he instructed. The man pulled out his wand and tapped the brick thrice before it, and a number of others, fell away, quivering into nothingness until a street opened up in front of the trio. A great giant of a man came out of the pub just in time to step through after them. Harry could feel the man's eyes on him and when he turned he was met with a mountain of coat and salt-and-pepper hair.

The mammoth of a man was beaming down at the boy.

"Harry, Harry Potter?" he clarified, his voice thick.

Harry nodded and produced his hand once more with a sort of 'hello', or something similar. Bruce was talking to the professor, getting directions to the bank. It wasn't like either of them had wizard money.

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," said the giant. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yet mom's eyes," he went on. Harry blinked up at him owlishly. "Ah, almos' forgot teh introduce myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"Hello," Harry greeted. He followed it with, "You knew my parents?"

Rubeus started to speak but Bruce cut in like a knife through butter.

"Harry! The professor is going to show us around. Come on," he encouraged.

Harry frowned at the man. He had heard Rubeus talking. There was no way that Bruce of all people had missed it, he was too good for that. So why was he interrupting them?

Bruce flapped his hand in summons and Harry smiled regretfully at Rubeus before he bid him quick farewell and trotted to Bruce's side. He turned his frown up at his guardian.

"He knows about my parents," he declared, a bite to his teeth that surprised even himself.

"Yes, and he works at the school. So you'll see him then. Right now, we're holding your professor up," Bruce tilted his head to Quirrell. His wrist twitched.

Harry's eyes widened a fraction. Bruce was using this to keep an eye on the quirky professor.

"Alright," he gave in, bowing his head and kicking at the road in an exaggerated play.

Quirrell smiled tensely at the boy and the trio set off, the professor stumbling over every few words as he tried to show them where they could get the books, cauldrons, clothes, and wands that they needed. An owl hooted in a nearby shot and Spot poked his head out of Harry's collar to hiss at him. The poor man guiding them nearly fell smack on his face.

"Y-you k-keep a snake, H-h-harry?" he squeaked like a mouth.

Harry reached up to pet Spot lightly. "More like he keeps me. Would you like to pet him, professor?" It was polite but Harry knew he'd decline before the words were even out. He was right too. Quirrell shook his head quickly.

"N-n-no, thank y-you."

Eventually they had reached a snowy white building that towered over the other little shops. Standing beside its burnished bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold, was a creature about a head shorter than Harry. He had a swarthy, clever face, a pointed beard and, Harry noticed, very long fingers and feet.

"Th-this is wh-where I m-must t-take my leave," Quirrell declared, and vanished with haste. Harry watched him go with just a little bit of confusion.

The little humanoid bowed as they walked inside. Harry found himself facing a second pair of doors, silver this time, with words engraved on them.

Bruce leaned closer to read them aloud, acting perfectly touristy.

 _"Enter, stranger, but take heed_

 _Of what awaits the sin of greed,_

 _For those who take, but do not earn,_

 _Must pay most dearly in their turn._

 _So if you seek beneath our floors_

 _A treasure that was never yours,_

 _Thief, you have been warned, beware_

 _Of finding more than treasure there_ ," he read.

Harry smiled a bit. "Riddler would love this place."

"Riddler would rob this place," Bruce corrected.

"He'd be mad to try. No one gets from Gringotts that which isn't theirs," declared one of the creatures at the silver door before bowing the pair through. Bruce hummed none committedly and entered the massive marble hall. Harry was impressed by the sheer size of it and the number of staff.

About a hundred goblins were sitting on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in actual scales, and examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of them.

Harry wondered if this was what things had been like a hundred years ago, during the gold rush. He made a mental note to ask Jonah Hex the next time he saw him.

There was a free creature looking straight at them from his perch halfway down the hall.

Bruce took them over to him and greeted the small being with a smile.

"'Morning," he greeted, "We're here to make a withdrawal from Harry Potter's account."

The Goblin squinted at the pair, looking at Bruce especially. "Do you have his key?" he asked.

Harry pulled it out and held it up for inspection. The key was tiny and delicate, made of solid gold. It had come in a letter last week, along with an explanation. His father had apparently been very wealthy, and left him a lot of money.

The Irony of him living with Bruce Wayne didn't escape anyone in the household.

The goblin looked at it closely before he nodded. "That seems to be in order. I will have someone take you down to both vaults," he raised his voice to call, "Griphook!"

A second later Griphook, yet another goblin, appeared from behind the counter and ushered Harry and Bruce to follow him along towards one of the doors leading off the hall.

They walked out of grandeur and into a cave lit by torches.

Idly, he hummed the 'Phantom of the Opera'. Bruce rolled his eyes at his charge and carried on behind the goblin, asking about security measures. The three climbed into a mining cart and the thing vaulted into darkness. Harry gripped the side of the cart, his wide eyes staring into the shadows. He counted, carefully making a list of the way they got in, in case he needed to run out.

He lost track after the eighteenth left turn.

They came careening to a stop in front of a door in the passage wall and climbed out, one after the other.

Griphook unlocked the door for them, letting a billow of green smoke come out. Harry panicked and stepped back, holding his breath until it had all cleared and his lungs were starting to burn. He sucked in air sharply, for more than one reason.

Inside were mounds of gold coins. Columns of silver. Heaps of bronze. He had seen Bruce's bank account but a bunch of zeroes and physical coins were vastly different things.

"You remember the numbers?" Bruce asked, and Harry nodded a little.

"Galleons are the big ones," he began, "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle. So, 491 Knuts to Galleon."

"493," Griphook corrected.

Harry had been watching the prices of things in the shops that they passed, and collected almost exact change for everything he'd seen, and quite a bit of extra just in case. He tucked it all into a coin pouch with a green 'T' crossing over it, the same one that emblazoned his chest when he was all dressed up as Talon.

That reminded him, "We should get my uniform first," he said once he had the pouch put away in the big pocket of his hoody. Uniforms. He wondered if they were anything like the ones at Gotham Academy.

Bruce agreed, and they took another dizzying ride out of the cavern before they exited, thanking Griphook and going on their way to the shop Quirrell had passed on his tour.

"How do you get to your vault?" Bruce asked the question Harry had been dreading.

He frowned, and took a minute to see if he could figure it out. He could remember most of the way down, and if he reversed the way back…

"Left, right, right, left, middle fork, right, left, left, right, right, right, middle fork, middle left, far right, left, right, middle, left, right, right, middle, left, far left, middle right, left, right," he hoped.

He must have been right for Bruce asked, "How long did we stay on the last track?"

He faltered. Crap.

"Fifteen seconds, past twelve other doors," Bruce answered for him. Harry nodded. He hated these games. Bruce always tried to make him remember things exactly.

Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions was a nice enough place. The robes were better than suits, and he was pretty sure he could just flat out wear his utility belt instead of keeping it stuffed inside of a hoodie or something akin to that.

Before they got to the shop he had passed it over to Bruce, without anyone's notice. A witch in all mauve set him up on a stool, like all seamstresses did, and dropped a robe over his head. To his right was a pale boy with hair just the same shade, getting a fitting as well.

The boy looked at him and Harry met grey eyes with bright green. He reminded him, just from the way he stood, to the kids Harry had gone to school with for the last three years. Richer than a king, that is.

"Hello," he said, "Hogwarts too?"

Harry nodded, then still when Madam Malkin made a sound of disapproval.

"Yes," he substituted. The boy looked his age… "Are you a fre- first year?" It wasn't a high school. They weren't freshmen.

Harry had been in America for too long.

"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice and sounded exactly like he longed at Gotham Academy. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."

Harry twitched a smile. Okay, so he sounded like him and Dick too.

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on. Harry was surprised by how friendly he was.

Harry made sure not to shake his head this time, since they were pinning the collar and he liked to not be pricked.

"No," he said simply.

"Play Quidditch at all?" the blond inquired.

"No," Harry said again, "I've done dodgeball, and basketball, but none of my friends are interested in Quidditch," as if they even knew what it was. Harry had only a very basic understanding. "I played Quodpot for the city last year though."

"I do," the boy said proudly, "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

Harry was starting to see a pattern emerge when he had to answer with, "No idea."

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been," he kept talking, "imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

"Maybe. But I think I'd stay to learn the magic," he wished he could shrug, staying still so long made him antsy.

Grey eyes narrowed at him almost imperceptibly. "You're not one of _them_ , are you?" He said 'them' the way Harry heard most kids talk about himself. _Orphan_. _Charity case_.

"I'm not sure what you mean. There's a lot of 'them'. There's the 'them' from other places, the 'them' from Good Omens," the boy looked bewildered, "The 'them' below the poverty line," he tacked off.

"I meant them as in mudbloods."

Not sure exactly how to respond Harry repeated what he'd been told, little as it was.

"Dad was pureblood," he offered, and the boy smiled like that was the perfect answer.

Which, with the way he talked, it probably was.

"I really don't think they should let the other sort in, do you? They're just not the same, they've never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families. What's your surname, anyway?"

But before Harry could answer, Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear."

Harry hopped down next to Bruce, digesting the words. He'd heard them all before, especially when the Wayne Foundation started handing out scholarships to promising youths.

"It's not really their fault that they don't know," Harry said, marginally irked. "Have you ever heard of Harvard?" Harry challenged.

The boy blinked at him and looked bewildered. "Harvard? The town?"

"The university," he corrected. "See? You don't know about it, but no one ever told you so how would you be expected to?"

The boy frowned at him but Harry wasn't paying that much attention, he was counting up how much he owed Madam Malkin.

"Yes, but they think they're so grand because they have magic," he mocked, and Harry looked up him, painting on the best impression of Innocent Confusion.

"Then, why don't we teach them?" he reasoned, "If you want them to know how things work. I think there ought to be a class about it, for muggle born and half-blood students who don't know better. Then it wouldn't a problem anymore at all." He turned to Bruce, who was acting as a pack horse now.

"I'm Harry Potter, by the way. Be seeing you," he added, throwing another glance at the boy over his shoulder before he was swallowed by a crowd of people. He caught sight of Rubeus making his way out of Gringotts as well, and Quirrell going in. Strange, he'd thought he was in earlier.

Harry turned away from the bank and followed after Bruce, trying to do mental math on how much he could get if he just sold a galleon as raw gold and traded that money back in for knuts. What was the exchange rate for pounds?

Busy with his thoughts, he missed the eyes that watched him go.


	5. Chapter 5

"Where the heck is platform 9.75?"

Harry stared up at the signs, quietly agreeing with Dick's purposeful play on the words. He had a penchant for that. Harry had a feeling he was going to enjoy mocking up spells when Harry came home to share them in the Holidays.

He was to stay at the school full time until the break for the Christmas. After that he would come home, and if he thought he could handle school and hero work then they would set everything up for him to go between the city and the school easily. Until then, he was just another student at Hogwarts.

If he could get there.

When Harry looked over his shoulder at Bruce he could tell just by looking at him that he knew what was going on. The boy felt irritation roll through him. Bruce was always, always testing them. He had started when Harry wanted to be his side kick and he hadn't stopped since.

When Bruce caught him looking the man smiled at him and nodded at the station. There were people everywhere, all of them bustling around. It reminded him of the subways, only it was brighter, and louder. People were everywhere, talking loudly on phones, to the people around them. Mothers scolded children while Fathers steadily sunk into newspapers. A baby started screaming some ways away.

Time was ticking, until it was only ten till eleven. He needed to find the platform but he couldn't see anything.

Bruce cleared his throat. "You have more than one sense, Harry."

Harry stood a little straighter. That was right. He stepped back and closed his eyes, the way he did when they were using smoke. He didn't need to rely solely on his sight. He had four other things he could use. Smell and Taste he doubted were going to help. Feeling, maybe, but he picked something else out.

He listened. Picked voices and conversations out before he heard, very distinctly, "packed with Muggles, of course -"

Harry swung around, eyes snapping open to look for the woman that was speaking. It was a plump woman who was talking to four boys and a girl, all with flaming red hair. Each of them was pushing a trunk like Harry's in front of him, one of which was equipped with an owl.

Harry trotted after them, pushing his trunk in front of him. He looked back to see Bruce smiling at him, a real one, not the fake one that was Bruce Wayne. That was the look of a proud father. He and Dick trailed after. The family stopped suddenly and he had to jerk not to run over the girl, about his age. She looked a little like Barbara.

Harry stilled just close enough to hear what they were saying.

"Now, what's the platform number?" asked the mother, looking upwards.

"Nine and three-quarters!" piped up the girl, pulling on her mother's hand, "Mom, can't I go... " she begged.

The woman shook her head. "You're not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."

What looked like the oldest boy marched toward platforms nine and ten. Harry watched, careful not to blink in case he missed it, but just as the boy reached the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists came swarming in front of him and by the time the last

backpack had cleared away, the boy had vanished.

Harry would have cursed if Bruce wasn't still within hearing distance.

"Fred, you next," the woman said, nodding to one of the other boys. A closer look revealed that he was one of a pair of twins.

"I'm not Fred, I'm George," the boy shook his head mournfully. "Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother?"

"Sorry, George, dear."

"Only joking, I am Fred," he smiled brightly, and off he went. His twin called after him to hurry up, and he must have done so, because a second later, he had gone. Harry squinted, trying to figure out the trick. There had to be something.

Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier he was almost there - and he too vanished, he wasn't anywhere. Harry blinked a couple of times. Maybe from a different angle…

Only, there was an easier way.

"Excuse me," Harry said to the woman, poking himself around the last remaining trunk. If the girl, Ginny, was too young it had to belong to the last boy. Tall and gangly, with more freckles than skin.

"Hello, dear," she said, smiling sweetly to him. "First time at Hogwarts?" she guessed, then gestured to last boy, "Ron's new, too."

"Yes," said Harry. "The thing is," he had to swallow his pride, "I don't know how to-"

"How to get onto the platform?" she said kindly, and Harry nodded.

"Not to worry," she said. "All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don't stop and don't be scared you'll crash into it, that's very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."

"Um. Okay," said Harry. He was bewildered. Running would attract attention wouldn't it? And weren't wizards all about discretion?

He looked back at Bruce, who nodded encouragingly, drawing the attention of the woman.

"Is that your father?" she guessed. It wasn't a bad assumption. All three of them were dark haired, and he and Bruce were fair of skin Their eyes were very similar too, though his green was different from the bright blue of the other two. They did look vaguely similar. But Bruce was tall, strong and broad, Dick was short and slim, and made of wired steel. Harry, contrarily, was skinny and tall, like a swimmer. Or a broomstick.

"I'm Bruce," the older introduced in the space of time Harry would have confirmed or denied. "These are my boys, Harry and Dick."

"Hello," the boys greeted in chorus.

"So," Bruce went on, "We're running through a wall. Sounds fun."

And familiar. Though normally they were being thrown rather than going through willingly.

"Yes," the woman looked up at Bruce, who was a million miles taller, "Are you muggles then?" she guessed.

Bruce nodded, "Yes, Ma'am."

Dick piped up, "We have five minutes to the train."

That set in motion a train of events which included Harry running through an incorporeal wall, Dick doing a backflip over a wayward cart, and an introduction to Fred and George, who had appeared out of nowhere to whisk away the trunk and shove it into one of the only empty compartments remaining inside of the scarlet steam engine.

When they had everything stowed away Harry turned a smile up on the tall twins and brushed his bangs away from his eyes.

"Thanks," he said sincerely.

"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar. He was fairly sure it was Fred, but with the trick they'd played on their mother he wasn't entirely sure.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you-"

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.

"What?" said Harry.

"Harry Potter, " chorused the twins, reminding Harry of how and Dick sometimes acted to frighten people.

"Oh, him," said Harry, nodding a little. "Yes, I am."

There was so much happening he was having trouble taking it all in at once, soaking up everything in the detail Bruce expected him to. He wasn't the only one taking in new sights. The two boys gawked at him, and Harry felt himself turning red. Then, to his relief, a voice came floating in through the train's open door.

"Fred? George? Are you there?"

"Coming, Mom," they called, and with a last look at Harry, the twins vanished around the corner and hopped off the train.

Harry sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could watch the red-haired family on the platform and hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose. Harry wondered what that was like. Bruce had no trouble playing as the jester, carefree for all he loved his sons, but when it came down to it his affection was a pat on the head, a movie with too much popcorn. Beating the a crook half to death for putting a knife in his lungs.

"Mom! Ge-off" Ron squirmed until he had wiggled free, to the utter glee of his brothers.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins. Harry forwent his observations of the kind family to look to his own. Dick and Bruce stood on the platform, looking at him. The little acrobat was smiling hugely and waving while Bruce watched on with a small crease in his brow, the only sign that he was worried.

Harry smiled at them and waved, trying to promise without shouting that it would be fine.

Of course, since when was anything ever that simple?

* * *

The third thing out of Ron's mouth, after asking about his name and his scar, was, "So you went to live with Muggles," followed quickly with, "What are they like?"

Harry had to think on that before he answered, turning his eyes out onto the countryside as the city fell away. He didn't mean to ignore Ron, but he must have been thinking too hard for the boy took on an affronted, and somehow crestfallen visage.

Harry hurried to speak.

"Like any sort of people I guess. Some are outright horrible, like my aunt and uncle and cousin are," And Joker, Scarecrow, Black Mask…. "Some are amazing. Bruce and Dick are, but it's really only me with magic so they don't always, mmm," There were times they would look at him after he'd accidentally blown out a fuse and he would feel contingencies welling up behind their gazes. "Sometimes I wish I wasn't the only wizard. I think I'd like to have had a wizard brother, or three."

"Five," Ron corrected, taking up on his lack of shunted attention. For some reason, he was still looking gloomy. "I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left. Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's old rat."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a fat gray rat, which was asleep. Inside of his robes Spot slid around, rolling along Harry's ribs. Harry wasn't used to people willingly telling him so much all at once.

"His name's Scabbers and he's useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff-" Ron choked himself off, "I mean, I got Scabbers instead." Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Harry didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. He shrugged a little, and didn't push it if Ron didn't want to talk about it.

"I didn't get a new pet for Hogwarts either," he offered. He held out his hand, and Spot flopped into his palm like a puppy faced rope of putty. "We had Spot for years," he explained. Ron drew Scabbers back to his chest when Spot flicked his pointy tongue out.

Harry smiled. "He's too big for Spot to eat. He'd end up choking."

"You're sure?" Ron worried.

Harry nodded. "Cross my heart. Spot will too," he lifted the snake in a nudge and it obediently rolled to make and 'x' when he clopped into Harry's lap. Ron smiled, a just a smidge.

"How come you've got a snake? Didn't You-Know-Who have one?" he asked, scooting a little closer.

"Did he? No one ever tells me much about Voldemort," Harry shrugged midway into Ron's startled gasp.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" Ron sound shocked and impressed in equal turns. "I'd have thought you, of all people-"

Harry cut him off there.

"If you put power in his name, you're saying he has power over you, even when he's dead," Harry declared with absolute certainty. There was power in a name, power in fear. He had seen it before in the whispers of 'Batman', watched it in the eyes of criminals that ran as soon as they saw the pointy eared shadow.

Harry was not afraid of the Dark Lord Voldemort.

Ron nodded, very slowly, his eyes wide on Harry.

A rattling started from down the car, and Harry put their conversation on hold to look outside. A smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door moments later and announced, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Harry, always one for sweet things, hopped up to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Harry sent him a confused look before turning back to the cart. He was hoping for a mars bar, but what he found was all wizarding candy.

Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs. Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and some stuff Harry couldn't even start to identify.

He touched the coins he'd brought with him for the semester and mentally added up the price. Fred and George had helped him with his trunk, and Harry wanted to know what all this stuff was. America was so very different. Ron was nice enough, and Harry didn't mind sharing.

He may have been raised by one of the richest men on the planet but Bruce had always implanted the importance of moderation and money on his sons.

That did not apply to weapons, of course.

Harry asked politely if he could have four of everything. The woman looked surprised, but nonetheless gave him as he asked, and the treats piled up in a corner of the cart.

Harry counted her out exact change and tried to remember if you tipped in the UK.

When she went on without one he assumed no, and sat back down across the wide eyed Ron. He felt a little bit bad throwing money around in front of the boy. Ron looked away and took out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside.

He pulled one of them apart and mourned, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef."

"Swap you for one of these," Harry offered, picking out one of the Pumpkin Pasties.

"You don't want this, it's all dry," Ron digressed. "She hasn't got much time," he added quickly, "you know, with five of us."

Harry shook his head.

"I haven't had anything made by a mother in years," he confessed, watching Ron sit a bit straighter in his surprise. "It's only boys in my house. Me, Dick, Bruce, and Alfred."

Alfred, he was sure, cooked better than anyone on earth. That didn't take away from the fact that there was something special to him about things made by a mother.

He had never had one before.

Ron traded with only a bit more hesitation. Harry made sure to eat the dried out corned beef and sat back, watching the countryside fall into wilder terrain. The neat fields vanished in place of wild, overgrown pastures and the first of woods.

There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy Harry thought he might have passed on platform nine and three quarters came in. He looked tearful and Harry immediately stood.

"Sorry," he said, "but have you seen a toad at all?"

When they shook their heads, he wailed, "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"

"He'll turn up," said Harry. "If you can't find him, I'll come help look too," he went on.

"Yes, alright," said the boy miserably. Even Harry's offer wasn't enough to lift his spirits. "Well, if you see him..." he left with his head bowed.

"Don't know why he's so bothered," said Ron. "If I'd brought a toad I'd lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can't talk."

The rat was still snoozing on Ron's lap. Harry couldn't tell Ron that he was being rude before the ginger went on.

"He might have died and you wouldn't know the difference," said Ron in disgust. "I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway," He had just raised his 'wand when the compartment door slid open again. The toadless boy was back, but this time he had a girl with him. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she said. She had a bossy sort of voice, lots of bushy brown hair, and large front teeth.

"We've already told him we haven't seen it," said Ron, but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then." She sat down without asking. Ron looked taken aback. Harry was surprised by the total lack of manners.

"Er, all right." Ron cleared his throat. "Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed gray and fast asleep, unaffected and unchanged. Harry smiled just a smidge. That sounded like something out of Sabrina the Teenage Witch.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard. I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough. I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?" Hermoine said it all at a speed that would put the Flash to shame.

"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron muttered.

"Harry Potter," said Harry with some hesitance.

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course! I got a few extra books. For background reading, not to mention how often you're on the news and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century."

"Am I?" Harry had never bothered to check those sorts of things. He had been too busy, and the books Jason had given him were less focused on him and more focused on the society in general. If there were books on his life, he should be getting royalties, shouldn't he? He made a mental note to ask next time he was at the bank.

"Goodness, didn't you know? I'd have found out everything I could if it was me," Hermione said. She certainly enjoyed talking about herself. Harry would have pegged her to be the middle child. "Do either of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad... Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we'll be there soon."

And she left, a whirlwind of bushy hair and rapid words, taking the toadless boy with her.

Harry was left to stare after her, stunned.

"Whatever house I'm in, I hope she's not in it," said Ron. He threw his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell. George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."

"What house are your brothers in?" asked Harry, deciding to switch topics.

"Gryffindor," said Ron. Gloom seemed to be settling on him again. "Mom and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

Harry cocked his head. Ron didn't want anything to do with Slytherin, the boy in the robe shop hadn't cared for Hufflepuff. Harry supposed that it all depended on who you were. A Family from Gryffindor, and Family from Slytherin.

If he'd heard right, he was from a Gryffindor family too. Was blood a factor in choosing?

"How do they assign houses?" He asked. Was is alphabetical? Was there some kind of test? Names out of hats?

Ron shook his head. "No one knows, or if they do they don't tell first years. Fred and George keep saying different things. Once they told me it was dragon fighting, and another time they said you wrote an essay!"

Neither of those sounded so bad to Harry. He did worse most weekends.

They were interrupted when the compartment door slid open yet again, but it wasn't Neville the toadless boy, or Hermione Granger this time.

Three boys entered, and Harry recognized the middle one at once: it was the pale boy from Madam Malkin's robe shop. He was looking at Harry with a lot more interest than he'd shown back in Diagon Alley.

"Is it true?" he said. "They're saying all down the train that Harry Potter's in this compartment. So it's you, is it?"

"Yes, I'm Harry" said Harry wearily. "My surnames Potter," he added for good measure. He let his eyes drift away from the pale child to look at the other boys. Both of them were thickset and looked extremely mean. Standing on either side of the pale boy, they looked like bodyguards. Harry tried not to laugh at the image.

"Oh, this is Crabbe and this is Goyle," said the pale boy carelessly, noticing where Harry was looking. "And my name's Malfoy, Draco Malfoy." It was clear he found himself to the most important part of the trio. Interesting was the emphasis he put on his family rather himself.

Bond. James, Bond.

Ron coughed over a laugh. Draco Malfoy turned a frown at him.

"Think my name's funny, do you?" Draco drew himself up in pride. Harry leaned further back. He knew a million people just like him. "No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford," he sneered and turned back to Harry. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He held out his hand to shake Harry's, and Harry took it in his own.

"I appreciate the offer," he said politely. "I do like Ron well enough, and his brothers helped me earlier."

Draco smiled at Harry before turning a frown at the ginger. Harry broke their eye contact like he'd been taught and shook hands with both of the inexplicably large eleven year olds on either side of Draco. It was pretty clear no one else in the car expected him to introduce himself to the pair, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle.

Harry treated it like it was a Wayne Galla. There, he was all smiles and politeness in face of even the most derogatory remarks.

Draco and his companions didn't even come close to being on the top of his list of insults.

Harry could pick him apart later though. He had to yank him inside to avoid a tiny boy, who really could not have been old enough to be going to Hogwarts, shooting down the train what looked like a spelled skateboard gone wrong. Draco went tumbling, and Ron jumped to avoid him, sending Scabbers crashing to the ground with a horrible squeal. One of Draco's arms swept out and knock the pile of candies down on top of his head.

There was beat of silence. Then, Ron started laughing, and while Draco didn't turn red there was a dusting of pink on his cheeks. Harry grinned merrily when he lowered himself, directly between Draco and Ron.

"Any harm done?" he asked lightly, forcing the boys attention on him. He didn't want to deal with a fight.

"No," Draco huffed and looked elsewhere before he shouted and jerked, kicking a leg out recklessly and knocking Vincent's ankle aside. The larger boy howled and dropped on top of Harry's trunk, knocking off the rat that had tried to find refuge there. In a panic, Scabbers went and bit hard on his other ankle, the one still on the floor. The door behind them was yanked open once more and Hermione made an appearance, looking in at the chaos. Ron laughing in one corner, Gregory trying to calm Vincent and Draco staring wide eyed at the Ball Python draped across his knee. Harry crouched on his haunches in the middle of the chaos, totally unphased.

"What _has_ been going on?" she said, looking at the candies all over the floor and Ron picking up Scabbers by his tail.

Harry looked up at her and shrugged. "A lesson on Wizarding Families, I suppose."

"I've heard of the Malfoys," said Ron declared while Harry picked Spot off of Draco's leg. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

"Don't you talk about my father like that," Draco rose swiftly, pushing himself towards Ron. Harry stepped back, towards Hermoine.

"Dark Side?" He repeated. "Draco doesn't look much like a Sith to me."

She stared at him blankly and Harry was immediately disappointed. He missed Dick.

Harry sunk into a seat while Draco and Ron went at it. He looked over at Gregory and Hermione, who were the only ones now paying attention to him.

"I'm ready to go back to home now," he said mournfully. "At least the serial killers have seen Star Wars."

Hermione stared at him blankly before she shook her head. "You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor, and he says we're nearly there. And do stop fighting," she added to Draco and Ron, "You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"

Both boys scowled at her. "Would you mind leaving while we change?" Harry asked before the fighting could get going.

"All right," she sniffed, "I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," She looked at Ron again "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"

Ron glared at her as she left. Harry peered out of the window, into the falling darkness. He could see mountains and forests under a deep purple sky.

"Who does she think she is, telling me what to do?" Draco asked, crossing his arms. "Who even _is_ she?"

"Another first year, Hermione I think," Harry shrugged. He didn't want to give Draco any blood superiority over her. "She's not wrong though, I think we're getting close," he pointed to the windows and the rest followed his gesture. Vincent had stood up, apparently unharmed.

Draco's face lit up.

"Crabbe, Goyle, let's go," he ordered, taking the lead out the door. He paused to look back in at Harry.

"See you in there Potter."

Harry waved goodbye.

When he looked back at Ron the boy was frowning at him. Harry mimicked his expression.

"There was no need to bring his parents into anything," he scolded. "And don't look at me like that, rich people rarely know better than to be prats."

"You talk like you're not one of them," Ron accused.

"I went to a school made almost exclusively of the richest people in the state. I was an orphan, so was Dick," he listed, "We didn't exactly fit in."

Ron had the decency to look away. Harry took the opportunity to change, making sure Ron didn't see the utility belt wrapped around his hips. The robes were long and flowy, with the dark grey coloring of it no one would notice it was there at all.

The train rolled to a stop and the boys joined the pushing gaggle of children all trying to get off of the train. The luggage would he taken for them, which set Harry a little on edge but he didn't keep anything incriminating in his. Except for a cooler full of frozen mice.

They piled out, a sea of dark clothes and wide eyes, onto a tiny platform in the middle of the woods.

This was it.

* * *

A hat.

That _sang_.

" _Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,_

 _But don't judge on what you see,_

 _I'll eat myself if you can find_

 _A smarter hat than me._

 _You can keep your bowlers black,_

 _Your top hats sleek and tall,_

 _For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

 _And I can cap them all._

 _There's nothing hidden in your head_

 _The Sorting Hat can't see,_

 _So try me on and I will tell you_

 _Where you ought to be._

 _You might belong in Gryffindor,_

 _Where dwell the brave at heart,_

 _Their daring, nerve, and chivalry Set Gryffindors apart;_

 _You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

 _Where they are just and loyal,_

 _Those patient Hufflepuffis are true and unafraid of toil;_

 _Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

 _if you've a ready mind,_

 _Where those of wit and learning,_

 _Will always find their kind;_

 _Or perhaps in Slytherin_

 _You'll make your real friends,_

 _Those cunning folk use any means_

 _To achieve their ends._

 _So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

 _And don't get in a flap!_

 _You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

 _For I'm a Thinking Cap!_ "

Harry stared blankly at the strange creation before him, standing between Ron and and a girl who was vaguely reminiscent of Babs. Out of all of the houses listed and the traits given Harry was pretty sure he would fit into all of them, except perhaps Ravenclaw. Not that he wasn't smart, but it sounded more like Dick's scene than his own. He was unafraid of trouble, even seeking it out, in the name of justice. That was Hufflepuff. Gryffindor sounded like a good fit too, given his occupation as a hero, but so did Slytherin.

He watched Hermione and Neville go into Gryffindor, and Draco, Vincent, and Gregory all made their way to Slytherin. When his name was at last called it was met with whispers and wide eyes.

Harry resigned himself to it and made his way up to the stool. He sat, all eyes on him, and waited.

The hat dropped onto his head, blocking out the sight of the other students, and he felt a funny squirming in his brain. What in the world?

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, my goodness, yes. And a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

"You _see_?" Harry didn't like the sound of that. Was the hat reading his mind?

"Only peaking around," the thing assured, "oh don't fret so much. I've no interest in telling anyone what you do in your free time, even if I could. The charm keeps all things I see very private, Slytherin was firm on that. A very hazardous occupation though. Very daring, requires a lot of courage. How does Gryffindor sound? Or Slytherin, your little friend would be right at home. They could teach you great things."

Harry hummed. To be great was a nice thought, but, "I want to be good enough to protect people. I don't need more than that."

"Yes, so I see."

Those with power were often consumed by it. He had seen it happen before, a hundred times over. He had no intention of ending up like that.

"Alright," Harry felt the hat move on top of his head, and his stomach twisted with anxiety. The hat had access to all his secrets. That was horrifying.

"Better be, Hufflepuff!"

The cheer that rang out was deafening.

* * *

"I don't think I'll be quitting," Harry told Draco as he passed Slytherin table, tossing a bright smile his way. Draco made a face at him, though Crabb and Goyle both waved cheerfully at Harry.

As soon as he was near enough to the table under the yellow and purple banners an arm circled his middle, dragging him down onto the bench. Harry resisted the instinct to punch whoever had grabbed him and instead looked into bright grey eyes and a smiling face.

"Hello," Harry said in lieu of anything else coming to mind.

"Welcome to Hufflepuff, Harry Potter," the boy said, and sat Harry down on the bench. "I'm Cedric Diggory. That," he nodded to a pair at the head of the table, who smiled and waved at him. "Is Gabriel Truman and Magnolia Schweppes. They're our prefects. When we get to the common room, you'll get a sponsor. That'll be me."

"Oi!" A boy across the table barked. "Let the lad decide for 'imself Diggory!"

"What's it to you, Johnny," the girl beside him elbowed him playfully, "Everyone knows you're sponsoring your cousin."

Johnny made a face. "Still! Everyone has a choice, don't go lettin' Diggory box you into a corner," he pointed his spoon in Harry's face.

"I um. Won't?" Harry stared at the red sauce that dripped down into the sweet rolls on the table.

"Good," Johnny nodded and went back to his dinner. Supper? What did they call it here?

Harry carefully extracted himself from Cedric's arm so he could reach for some of the roast chicken sitting nearby. While he ate, he listened.

Cedric was in the same year as Johnny and Delilah, who liked to be called Del, and all three were on the Quidditch team, though Del was going to drop it next year. Cedric was very good at Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Johnny had a deep rooted hatred for Herbology, even though their Head of House taught it.

Samra Sorbet, who hated her name and insisted she was just Sam, had been ever so surprised when her wand broke over the summer, split straight down the middle and she'd had to find a new one. Now, she kept the phoenix tail feather tied in her hair as a memento.

Harry's hand itched for his wand. It was tucked away inside his sleeve, and he loved it. It felt just right in his grip, eager to use and ready to sing spells with him in time. Stubborn and ready for a fight, that was what it was.

His mouth twitched. No wonder it had chosen him.

"So, Harry, what's it like where you're from?" Cedric finally broke off from his conversation about 'Grosses Bean Flavor' to turn to their newest little badger.

"Hmm? Ah, well it's nice enough. Bit loud, takes some getting used to. A very gothic place, you know? Lots of lead pipes, need to work on that," he nodded absently to himself. "School was pretty enough, I was in the S.T.E.M. with my brother. Er, foster brother I guess. Both wards, yeah."

Cedric took a second to digest what he'd said, a furrow forming between his brows.

"What stem? Is that a Herbology thing muggles have?"

"What?" Harry startled. Muggle? No-Maj's, he guessed. "No, no, S.T.E.M. is Science, Technology, Engineering and Mathematics. I always did best at the chemistry parts, and the math. Maths," he pronounced the word a second time, carefully correcting himself.

"So you studied muggle science? What for?" Johnny only looked vaguely interested in what was happening in front of him.

"Mostly fun," Harry jumped when the feast vanished and was replaced by deserts. "I liked it. Sometimes we got to light things on fire that wouldn't actually burn. Put the whole ceiling up in flames once. That was fun!"

Del scooted a little further away from Harry, looking comically warry.

"Fun. Right."

"It was!" he defended. "And no one got hurt, so it was double cool."

" _Cool_ ," Johnny repeated. "You sound like an American."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. He snatched a slice of apple pie, paused, and passed it to the hungry looking boy on his other side. The kid looked at him startled. Harry pushed the pie more insistently in front of him before he the boy smiled, just a little, and accepted.

Harry pretended not to see the long sleeves slip back. Not yet. Later, certainly, he would say something.

"What's your name?" he asked for the time being. Already halfway through the pie the boy mumbled something unintelligible.

"Mark?" Harry hazarded a guess. The boy swallowed hard.

"Micah," he corrected quietly. "Micah Jean."

"Nice to meet you. I'm Harry," he smiled brightly at him. Micah returned it after a moment before Hannah, who was on his other side, asked him to pass the whipped cream.

Harry let himself fall into the whirlwind of conversation, switching between people and topics between bites of food. It was kind of amazing. Kind of great. Harry's gaze drifted across the teenagers in front of him, up along to the teachers table.

Quirrell was there, talking to a man with dark, greasy hair. As if sensing Harry's gaze the stranger turned cold eyes on him. A sharp, stabbing pain raced through his forehead, underneath the scar. Harry carefully didn't wince, though he was confused. His scars hurt sometimes, but not quite like that. Huh.

By the time it was over and the excitement was leaving his body he was full of good food, warm in the proximity of another body and the adrenaline draining away left him with drooping eyes. Cedric, bless him, nudged the boy until he was sitting upright.

"Come on," Cedric looped his arm with Harry's. "Think you can stay awake long enough to get to the common room? I promise you can sleep once we get there."

Harry muffled a yawn with his hand and nodded. "I'm good," he promised. Once he got his feet under him, he would wake up a little.

Cedric steadied him enough that he could stretch his arms above his head. He waved cheerfully to Ron when he caught him looking over. He tried to look for Draco, but the boy was already gone. Pity, Harry wanted to say goodnight to him, Crabbe and Goyle.

Harry let Cedric lead him through the castle, doing his best to memorize where he was supposed to be going. It was actually easy. The Hufflepuff dorm was just down the hall from the kitchens. Tucked into a corner was a stack of barrels. Harry watched with wide eyes as Gabriel Truman produced his wand and tapped it on the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row.

 _One-two one-and-two._

The top of the barrel rolled open, letting light spill into the dim corridor. Most of the fires had been put out already, and the sconces were far between here as it was. The whole place was a little bit gloomy. Not all like the bright smiles around the table or the cheerful laughter that had been floating around his head all night.

All of the upper classmen piled through the barrel before anyone let a single first year through. Harry looked at Hannah, who shrugged, and took his first steps into the golden light.

Harry's breath caught in his throat.

It was beautiful.

Harry had grown up in a world of perfectly coordinated colors and meticulously crafted artwork. A mansion that's ceiling stretched high. A school with the latest tech and the most modern designs. Before that everything had been dull and set off away from him, set up like an IKEA model for a family he wasn't really part of, besides being a cook.

All of that felt grey and distant, empty and cold in comparison to the room that opened in front of him.

Where the hallway outside was dark the common room was full of a golden light that spilled forth from the fireplace. Candles floated serenely around, carefully minding the plants that took up residence in night-darkened windows and hung from baskets at the ceiling. Little green vines waterfalled down towards the floor, soft when he lay his calloused fingers across them.

Tables were set, some with candles some with chess boards, some empty but surrounded by chairs. A pair of plush sofas, yellow cushions barely offsetting the honeyed wood, sat in a circle around the fire with a loveseat and a massive arm chair. Everything was round, it smelled vaguely of the earth and it was comfortably warm.

A portrait above the fireplace smiled and raised a cup at the new arrivals. She had a round face and a matronly smile that put Harry at ease.

Gabriel came to stand next to her, took a deep breath and squared his shoulders.

"Congratulations!" his voice carried easily through the room, "I'm Prefect Gabriel Truman, and I'm delighted to welcome you to Hufflepuff House! Our emblem is the badger, an animal that is often underestimated, because it lives quietly until attacked, but which, when provoked, can fight off animals much larger than itself, including wolves. Our house colors are yellow and black. Now, there are a few things you should know about Hufflepuff house. First of all, let's deal with a perennial myth about the place, which is that we're the least clever house."

The whole of the upperclassmen chorused a bark of, " _WRONG_!"

Smiling, Gabriel went on, "Hufflepuff is certainly the least boastful house, but we've produced just as many brilliant witches and wizards as any other. Want proof? Look up Grogan Stump, one of the most popular Ministers for Magic of all time. He was a Hufflepuff – as were the successful Ministers Artemisia Lufkin and Dugald McPhail. Then there's the world authority on magical creatures, Newt Scamander; Bridget Wenlock, the famous thirteenth-century Arithmancer who first discovered the magical properties of the number seven, and Hengist of Woodcroft, who founded the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade, which lies very near Hogwarts School. Hufflepuffs all."

"So, as you can see, we've produced more than our fair share of powerful, brilliant and daring witches and wizards, but, just because we don't shout about it, we don't get the credit we deserve. Ravenclaws, in particular, assume that any outstanding achiever must have come from their house. I got into big trouble during my third year for dueling a Ravenclaws prefect who insisted that Bridget Wenlock had come from his house, not mine. I should have got a week of detentions, but Professor Sprout let me off with a warning and a box of coconut ice. Hufflepuffs are trustworthy and loyal. We don't shoot our mouths off, but cross us at your peril; like our emblem, the badger, we will protect ourselves, our friends and our families against all-comers. _Nobody_ intimidates us."

Harry felt a strange sort of loyalty already blossoming under his ribs.

"However," Gabriel went on, "it's true that Hufflepuff is a bit lacking in one area. We've produced the fewest Dark wizards of any house in this school."

A cheer went up. Gabriel laughed along with it before he schooled his features into something stern-ish. For someone who grew up with goddamn _Batman_ , it was a laughable attempt.

" _Remember_ , the entrance to the common room is concealed in a stack of large barrels in a nook on the right hand side of the kitchen corridor. Tap the barrel two from the bottom, middle of the second row, in the rhythm of 'Helga Hufflepuff', and the lid will swing open. We are the only house at Hogwarts that also has a repelling device for would-be intruders. If the wrong lid is tapped, or if the rhythm of the tapping is wrong, the illegal entrant is doused in vinegar. You will hear other houses boast of their security arrangements, but it so happens that in more than a thousand years, the Hufflepuff common room and dormitories have never been seen by outsiders. Like badgers, we know exactly how to lie low – and how to defend ourselves."

His smile was, abruptly, all too sharp.

"If any of you missed him at the Welcome Feast, our house ghost is the friendliest of them all: the Fat Friar. You'll recognize him easily enough; he's plump and wears monk's robes, and he's very helpful if you get lost or are in any kind of trouble. I think that's nearly everything. I must say, I hope some of you are good Quidditch players. Hufflepuff hasn't done as well as I'd like in the Quidditch tournament lately," he admitted sheepishly. Hannah hid a yawn poorly behind her hand. Gabriel took pity on her. "You should sleep comfortably. We're protected from storms and wind down in our dormitories; we never have the disturbed nights those in the towers sometimes experience. And once again: congratulations on becoming a member of the friendliest, most decent and most tenacious house of them all. Welcome, to Hufflepuff."

Magnolia shooed him away from the fireplace and took up the space, drawing attention to her from the flagging energy of the first years. Harry was impressed that none of the upperclassmen had just left and gone to lay down. Wherever they were supposed to do that. Harry didn't see any hallways.

"Like the chatty badger said, welcome to Hufflepuff," Magnolia turned a kind smile across them. Her dark eyes shone softly in the dim light. "Here in this common room, at least once a week, we have what we call Sett Meetings. A badgers den is called a Sett and this is where we make out home. If any of you have trouble and you need the backing of the rest of us, bring it there. Or, if you have ideas you want to share with everything that's a perfect place too! "

"We do have another tradition that separates us from the other houses. That would be, every first year gets a sponsor. Someone to lead them around, show them the robes and make sure they don't get into too much trouble. We watch out for each other, and every one of us will help you if you ask, but it's always nice to have a familiar face to go to when you need it. Now, if the first years will step up. I know you're tired, but this will only take a few minutes."

Harry managed to get up next to Hannah Abbott and Earnest something or other. He knew he was supposed to pay more attention, but he was so _tired._ He'd gotten a student Liaison at Gotham Academy, he'd _been_ a student liaison. He just wanted this version of it picked up and to go to bed.

"Thank you," Magnolia smiled at them. "Hannah, you're first dear. Who'll sponsor her?"

There was a clamor before a girl a few years older than them stepped up, short brown hair cropped around her ears.

"Heidi McAvoy. That alright with you, Hannah?"

Hannah nodded tiredly and slumped next to Heidi. What would happen if someone didn't want a certain sponsor? Wouldn't it hurt their feelings? That didn't sound very Hufflepuff.

Harry watched as one after another first years paired off. Susan Bones and Maxine O'Flaherty, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Anthony Rickett, Ernie Macmillan and Alex Summers, Leanne Rook and May Cadeswater, Wayne Hopkins and Travis Wilkers.

"Harry, Harry Potter," Magnolia beckoned him closer. Harry shuffled a bit, slumped with sleepiness. He normally had energy enough to stay awake longer than this. It was just, something about the place felt so _safe._

"Hi," he managed, looking up into her green eyes. They were a few shades darker than his own.

"I've got him," Cedric announced, stepping up. Despite the conversation at the dinner table, no one objected, though a few people rolled their eyes.

"Okay," Magnolia nodded. "Last one and then we can get you all to bed. Oliver Rivers?"

"That's my cousin," Johnny announced stepping up. "I'll keep 'im in line."

"A trouble maker?" Magnolia inquired.

"No, ma'am," Oliver smiled angelically.

Cedric slipped his arm around Harry's shoulder and steered him towards one of the barrels stuck in the walls. Harry let him, trying to focus on the way he knocked on the wood. He didn't though. He picked up a small brass plaque labeled 'First Years' and set it onto the middle of the lit. The lid rolled away and the pair ducked in, leading the others along. The barrel opened into a decent sized room. There were five four post beds in a circle, the wood a golden brown. Patchwork quilts lay across them, fluffy and friendly. Each bed had yellow curtains and a banner that said 'Hufflepuff' with a badger strewn across it.

Harry stumbled to one of the beds, sinking into its softness. A brass lamp sat on the dressed beside his bed, and another was on his night stand. Cedric patted his arm.

"The door opens into whatever year's dorm you've put upon it," he explained. "Get some sleep, you have classes tomorrow. "

"Right. Thanks' Cedric," Harry smiled blearily at him and took off his glasses, turning the world into little more than blobs of vague shape and color. Dick had once complained about hating it when he woke up and saw a spider on the ceiling. Harry had a fine time explaining that Bloody Nicholas II, last Czar of Russia could be hanging from his ceiling fan and he would be none the wiser.

Harry listened to Cedric and the other sponsors trail out of the room before the sleep finally took him into dark, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Harry realized the next morning, with a great deal of embarrassment, that he hadn't even undressed the night before. Even worse, he had to change in front of four other boys.

Harry wasn't ashamed of his body by any measure, but the sheer amount of scars on his body would bring up more questions than he wanted to answer. And, there was the utility belt that he was trying to keep hidden on his person. Maybe he could just dismiss it as a No-Maj things? No, there had to be at least one other person here raised by regular people. They would know that it wasn't normal. And, even though the Talon 't' wasn't on it, it was still pretty recognizable to anyone who knew anything about superheroes.

He _could_ hide it in his trunk and only take it out when he needed it, but going anywhere without it made him twitchy.

Crap. Why hadn't Bruce told him how to do this before his left?

Another test, probably.

Harry made sure not to turn his lamp on when he opened his trunk and pulled out his robes. He didn't need to see to be able to tie a tie or button up his shirt, he carefully clipped on his belt and pulled the long robes over his shoulders before anyone else so much as stirred.

Just in time, he fastened his cloak at his chest as a light clicked on.

Harry looked over to see Ernie sitting up, rubbing his eyes blearily. Soft chimes started playing from the corner. Now that he was more awake, Harry realized exactly what had happened last night.

At dinner, the older Hufflepuffs had been deciding on sponsors without anyone even knowing. They had already paired off with younger kids and befriended them by the time the sponsors were chosen. .

 _Smart._

Harry shoved on his sneakers and ran a hand through his permanently messy hair. Spot slithered up his leg and tucked himself into one of the pockets on his belt, build especially for the little snake.

"Morning," Harry smiled at Ernie, who waved at him and yawned. Harry heard his jaw crack from across the room.

"Someone hit snooze," Justin whined and tried to burrow further under the covers until he was just a lump of stripes, spots and yellow. The chimes floated closer, tinkling merrily above Justin's head.

That was going to get old fast.

Wayne grumbled and sat up, scrubbing his eyes.

Oliver stood up, hair wild around his eyes.

The door opened and in walked Gabriel Truman, smiling and wide awake. Harry wondered if he had a coffee machine hidden away somewhere. He'd never seen any sane person smiling that brightly first thing in the morning. Dick didn't count.

"Good morning young 'puffs!" he grinned widely and yanked the curtains open, letting sunlight spill across their skin. "Good to see some of you are off to an early start. The schedule's been posted in the common room, third years and up get individual ones at breakfast. Before that, though, I have a pop quiz."

Justin groaned. The chimes kept playing over his head.

"What is it?" Oliver asked wearily. He tugged his night shirt sleeves awkwardly.

Ernie grimaced when the light fell into his eyes. Now that he was paying better attention Harry noticed the slivers of brown that shot through his blond hair. He was a stout boy, a little taller than Harry. All of them were taller than him, actually.

Harry had always been short.

A bit after Bruce had taken him in they'd gone to see a doctor, who had taken one look at Harry and threatened to throttle the Dursley's then and there. Between the malnutrition, vitamin deficiency and work he'd been made to do he had missed crucial growth spurts. His bones were still more cartilage than they should have been, and his eye sight was horrible. It wasn't natural, him needing glasses. It was lack of vitamins in his diet for eight years running.

The bone thing had actually turned out for the best. He was more flexible now than he would have been, and his bones broke harder than others.

It still would have been nice to be taller than someone his age at least once. Just the one time. Alas, it was not meant to be.

"What do you know about Badgers?" he asked, walking into the very center of the room. The wooden floor was set in in a fine gold that circled all the way around. Everything around the room was place precisely with very exact spaces between them. Something about it was niggling at the back of Harry's brain.

Ernie grimaced. "They live in a Sett?"

"They're mean if you poke them?" Justin mumbled from under his quilts.

"They're immune to deadly bee stings!" Harry piped in.

"All true," Gabriel said. "A group of badgers is called a cete. That's what you are now. As of last night, you became a cubs of the Hufflepuff Cete, and you will be one of us forever more, no matter what. Along with that, is the Sett, as Ernie said. One of the most important things to remember about badgers, is that there's always more than one entrance. And always more than one Sett."

Harry and Justin looked at each other. Gabriel walked to Wayne's bed and pulled the curtains at his headboard apart. The wall looked plane enough, until Gabriel tapped it lightly with his knuckles to a pattern.

Aloud, he said, "Second Floor, East Corridor."

A circle of bronze light appeared and the part of the wall inside of is vanished, revealing a long hallway stretching way. Harry wasn't the only on gaping.

"There's one for each floor, each corridor and each exit to the school, as well as one that leads out a bit further. We'll show you all of them. Each one is unlocked by knocking a rhythm to the name of the place you're going, same as the common room door. Now, while we can see out and step out, other folks who don't know about this can't see us or get inside. There's also other Sett's all around the school. Your sponsors will show you when they take you 'round this after noon."

"Is there one that'll take us straight to the Great Hall?" Wayne asked, peering curiously at the circle. Gabriel tapped the wall next to it once and it vanished with a small flurry of sparks that looked a bit like flower petals.

"So glad you asked! Yes, there is. This one." He stopped in the middle of the room and crouched to the floor where he knocked on the ground to the Rhythm of 'Great Hall'. The floor vanished into another circle rimmed with sparkling gold, this time showing a short drop, maybe seven feet at the most. A few students were already moving underneath.

"This is important," Gabriel continued, grim faced. "If someone else is there, you won't be able to use these doors. Watch."

He jumped on the circle. It rippled, twitched around the edges, but stayed solid. The Ravenclaw under them didn't notice.

He stood on the glowing circle for another minute before he stepped off, tapped the floor, and it disappeared once more. Gabriel stepped away from it.

"You've still got a few minutes to get ready before the rest of us gather in the Sett. The bells will chime again when it's time. See you all soon." Gabriel waved them a fond farewell and disappeared once more through the door. He left the little cubs amongst themselves, Harry the only one dressed.

Ernie eyed his speculatively once Gabriel had left.

"Are you always an early riser?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "I don't sleep well when I'm nervous," he confessed with a convincingly sheepish smile.

"You'll be fine," Ernie promised, clapping his shoulder. "This school was made for us."

"Maybe, but I've never been in a magic school before. I actually live with muggles."

Ernie's mouth fell open. "You do?!"

Justin finally tumbled into his pants. "Well yeah. He's Harry Potter. Everyone knows about him."

"I heard that he slayed three dragons when he was five, but I didn't know about the muggles!" Ernie waved his hand around.

Harry snorted on his laughter. "I've never even seen a real dragon! Those books were all made up."

"But wait, how do you know about him, if you're muggleborn?" Oliver asked, looking at the duo.

"He's a Wayne Ward," Justin said.

"I can't believe people actually call us that," Harry added. "Me and Dick Grayson, we're Bruce Wayne's wards. Bruce is one of the wealthiest no-maj, _muggles_ , in the world. We live in a big house filled with orphans," he explained, waving around while he talked. If he kept moving while he talked then when he inevitably ended up doing weird things and trying to hide them it would be harder to tell.

The mention of his not having parents sobered things up faster than he expected, shut everyone's mouths and so he cleared his throat awkwardly.

"Should we um, get breakfast?" where was some of Bruce's tact when he needed it?

That , at least, got all of the boys moving and together they made their ways out of the dorm, into the common room, electing to walk instead of try and use the magic bolt holes. Their sponsors were waiting for them, and without a second thought Cedric clapped Harry on the shoulder and guided him to the exit of the common room. Harry took one last deep breath and the earthy room before they stepped through the barrel and back into the castle. The high ceiling hung over head, filled with phantoms on their way to see the students that were making their way to the Great Hall like so many black cloaked ants drawn to the same sugar cube. Spot curled against Harry's hip, hissing softly up at him.

He took a deep breath and looked out in front of him, Cedric a warm comfort at his shoulder. His future stretched out before him in the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.


End file.
